The Long War
by Doodles163
Summary: A Jedi Padawan with everything to prove, a clone looking for meaning in his life, and a rookie pilot falling deeper into the criminal reaches of the galaxy. A story of three wandering souls attempting to navigate through the Clone Wars and the ensuing authoritarian rule of the Empire. Shouldn't rise above T, will change designation if it does, and will update whenever I update.
1. Chapter 1

**Padawan Neria Halai - Geonosis  
**

"Easy, Padawan." Master Kullenan's strained voice mirrored the frustration that Neria was feeling. "The fidgeting, the sweat, it's all a distraction. You need to reach out and lift those rocks."

The padawan wanted to, but she found concentration as difficult now as she had when she was a mere new apprentice all those years ago. Her increasing power had pushed her deeper into meditation, but without the fine adjustments required, she could only do so much while in such a relatively inert state.

The clamor outside didn't help. The heat was bad enough, but the shouted orders, mechanical grinding, and constant scrape of supplies being moved only increased the irritation weighing on the Twi'lek's mind. That only compounded the sweat trickling down her back under the robes, the heat of the sun outside slowly overwhelming her.

"I'm trying, Master," she said through gritted teeth. "There's so much noise outside."

"When battle comes, there will be far more noise, and the droids won't care that you have trouble concentrating over the sound."

Of course. Everything always came back to battle with her new master.

The human had been a veteran of combat even before the Clone Wars had begun, one of a handful of Jedi Knights sent to quell violent conflict before the Separatists started their mad campaign on the Outer Rim. Ever since then, his life—and indeed, the lives of all Jedi—had seemed to revolve around nothing but the war.

Neria Halai had been passed off to him from her last master, who'd given up on trying to teach her just like the last two she'd had. The Jedi Council had conceded that she needed a hand more firm than the last three, but she had also been keenly aware that they were growing tired of her. Two of the masters had said as much, and four had indicated agreement.

Simply put: if she couldn't succeed with this one, they'd likely expel her to the farms or medical corps.

Master Kullenan hadn't been particularly eager, either, going so far as to tell her that he didn't need a pupil to add to his worries on the battlefield. Yet he'd given her some grudging credit after she'd faced him down in a practice duel and given him more of a fight than he'd expected.

"I can deflect fire well, Master, and you've seen how I duel."

"Yes, you don't lack for skill, but sometimes there will be more droids than you can handle. If you're truly unlucky, you may meet one of the agents of the dark side. What will you do then? What skill set will you turn to when your blade does not suffice?"

Neria conceded the point to him, as always. At one time, she would've argued and scathingly panned his teaching, but now she was on her last chance.

She tried again, making another effort to block out all the noise around her and sink back into the tranquility of her calmed mind. This time, she began to feel it, a quiet _thrum_ that seemed to course through her body. The power called, and instead of grasping at it, she calmly let it approach.

There was far more behind the mere wisp she was feeling, a mere sprinkle of rain easing toward her from a vast and terrible hurricane.

The Force, and it was quietly calling to her, urging her to take hold of it. She could feel its presence all around her, from the dirt under her crossed legs to the metal of the armor under her master's robes.

The young woman found it in the jar between them, and ever so slowly, she eased it up. Then the half-dozen heavy rocks around it were lifted into the air.

Neria revolved them around her, then gently set them down atop one another, stacking the rocks haphazardly before setting the jar on the very top. Once she was certain minuscule structure wouldn't collapse, she withdrew.

Kullenan had no smile on his face, only a less severe slant to his lips than before. "Good," he told her. "I need to see more of that and fewer excuses."

"Yes, Master." She looked down at the small formation she'd exerted some energy trying to create, then back up at him. "I just don't know how to do it quicker. To reach out and just use it in the middle of sparring like you do."

"I know, and that's one of several reasons I'm your fourth master instead of your first and only." How he liked to remind her of it. "It's no different from the saber. With practice comes ease, with ease comes flexibility, and then comes the sheer power that allows you to throw a squad of droids all at once."

"I—"

Her question was cut off by the cry of blaster fire outside. There was a shout from the hill in front of the camp, then came more fire. Her master's brow furrowed, then he grimaced a set of unblemished teeth.

"Droids," Kullenan muttered. "Always so difficult to sense when you're not expecting them." He rose to his feet, hand moving down to the long hilt at his hip. "Let's hope there aren't too many. Can't have you fighting off an army on your first time out."

"You're letting me fight?" Neria asked, cerulean eyes shining with hope.

"Like you said, you can deflect fire well, and I've seen how you duel. Just stay close to me and listen to my orders."

"Yes, Master."

They rushed out into the heat of Geonosis, the sun of the arid desert planet overbearing even when inside. Clones rushed to the perimeter in small teams, the armored and nearly identical soldiers difficult for her to differentiate.

Not only would this be her first battle, but never before had she fought alongside the clones. She'd seen them at the Jedi Temple, and she'd met several on her rare expeditions out into the city, but those had been her only interactions with the soldiers of the Republic. She'd found them painfully professional and resolute, excellent qualities in a trooper but not very interesting to her.

Most uncomfortable was the realization that she was second-in-command of the division. She'd never understood the need for Jedi to take up the role of tacticians in a government full to the brim of generals who'd navigated civil wars, pirate actions, and rebellions, but it was a mantle she'd grudgingly taken on. Her master had issued her some holobooks on the subject of military tactics, not that she'd had time to look at them before they'd landed.

Their white armor shone blindingly in the sun, their rush to the front quick and unwavering. The carbines and heavy weapons in their arms seemed to slow them little as they dashed for their positions, their commanders crying coarse orders at their backs.

A look at the semi-circle of inclines at the front of the landing zone confirmed that the droids were indeed advancing at the perimeter, scores of standard battle droids marching in the same ineffective blocks that still nonetheless saw them seizing world after world.

"Troopers," Jedi Knight Kullenan said, indicating a squad that rushed past him. "Follow me."

"Yes, General," replied one at the front, a black shoulder pad marking him as one of Kullenan's division. "Men, with me."

The padawan fell in behind her master as their leader jogged toward the marching droids as they continued to pour fiery bolts down on the entrenched clones at the front. For a moment, she wondered what, exactly, her master intended to do against so many.

He activated his saber, a blue beam erupting from both ends. The hilt of her own weapon was warm in her hands, its weight and the softly humming energy within familiar. She activated the lightsaber, a blade the same color as her master's quickly sliding from the end with a _hiss_.

Blocking blaster bolts and dueling as a whole was less about predicting the trajectory and more about feeling the energy through the Force, realizing where it would be in only a moment, and getting the lightsaber there before the bolt did. Her masters had warned her it was a form of precognition, not reflex.

It was also one of the few applications of the Force that the Twi'lek padawan intuitively excelled in.

Neria took to her master's side, and the two provided a focal point for the red streaks of energy fired by the enemy while the clones took up position on their commanders' flanks and poured blue bolts into the sides of the advancing formations.

The difference in skill between the two Jedi was clearly visible. Though Neria could block the bolts with ease, she was unable to consistently deflect them back at her master, something he effortlessly managed.

The attack was over almost before it began, the droids quickly falling under the combination of the clones' pinpoint accuracy and the stalwart defense of the Jedi.

Neria was about to shut off her lightsaber, but her master still held his in front of him, glancing around the now-silent battlefield with dark eyes narrowed.

"What is it, Master?"

"Something was off about that attack." He cocked his head, as if listening to a sound audible only to him. "A company-sized element against a brigade? What did they expect to accomplish?"

The Twi'lek looked back at the sprawling camp that stretched all the way from the dunes to the tunnel systems in the dirt mounds behind them. Indeed, now that she took full stock of the base, she couldn't help but wonder the same as her master. Exactly _what_ had the droids been trying to do by marching such a comparatively small number right into the clones' teeth?

Neria held her lightsaber in front of her, much like he did, reaching out and trying to find something out there in the desert. A sniper perched on the crest of a dune, artillery hiding behind the waves of dirt, anything. Yet she couldn't find a single thing out of place but for the enemy outpost far in the distance, and she could feel her master doing the same as her. When she pulled back, he switched off his lightsaber.

"Strange," she said, following his example and shutting off her weapon.

"Hm..." He looked to the clone who'd followed them into battle. "Captain, your name."

"Sir, I'm See-Tee—"

"Not your designation. Your name, I'm sure you have one."

"Tank, sir."

"Tank. I have a question for you."

"Yes sir?"

"Were I an infiltrator, where would I slip in?"

"The tunnels, sir." The clone straightened up as if struck by an epiphany. "Which would be easiest while everyone's attention is turned to the front."

The Twi'lek abruptly followed his meaning. While it was likely only a guess, it was true that most the clones had probably given their full attention to the short skirmish at the front of the base. If someone had sneaked into their camp, that would've been the optimal moment.

But what could they be after? There wasn't much in the way of intelligence, Kullenan in particular had a penchant for committing every detail of the battlefield to memory before destroying any high-level reports, leaving only a transmission of the intelligence to the fleet above. Other than that, they had no special ordnance, no new weapon to gather details of, nothing that a spy could possibly want.

"Order each mouth to the cave searched, and put the sentries on alert," the Jedi commanded. "If I'm correct, we'll need to find this infiltrator before they can get out with whatever they're planning to steal."

"It will be done, sir."

Neria's master turned to her, the severe lines of his face refusing to budge. "We need to join the search, as well," he said. "I'm sure you know what that means."

"Reaching out with the Force to find them." She tried not to grumble, but the tone came through regardless. "I'd have more luck finding them by firing a blaster in every direction and hoping they get hit."

The Twi'lek spotted the most incremental of twitches at the corner of her master's mouth. He returned his lightsaber back to his belt, then looked up at a sun that never seemed to descend.

"Night will fall, soon," he said. "And it'll be more difficult to find them in the shadows. Come, we must hurry."

 **I was somewhat wary of releasing this, but there you have it, my first chapter. With enough interest, I'll keep on.**

 **This story will follow three characters, as hinted in the summary, and I'll update (hopefully) weekly, but with all that I have on my plate, no promises.**


	2. Chapter 2

**CT-1552 – Bothawui**

'Dreamer.'

That was what his fellow clones called CT-1552, a reference to his mind's propensity to wander except for in the heat of battle. A name that would be a compliment in any other sector of the galaxy, and it was a sin he was forced to bear.

Many clones had wondered whether he had been in the vat too long, whether his training had been too soft. Such concerns were rendered moot within his first three battles, where he'd excelled past his peers.

When a fateful battle on Kamino claimed the lives of his fellow squad, there were many pondering what do with him, where he was supposed to go. In light of his unique personality but excellent combat skills, he was put on guard duty at the Jedi Temple, possibly the dullest duty that command could find.

Yet he didn't remain there long. During an intrusion in the temple, he helped track down the perpetrator with a knight who decided that he would tag along for missions outside the Jedi Order. Before long, he was back in battle, right where he belonged.

The planet of Bothawui was temperate enough, not the worst battlefield that the clone had been on, but definitely not the best. The incredibly powerful and complex spy network was the specialty of the planet, the intelligence they produced utilized by the commanders back in the Core.

With the planet's proximity to the Outer Rim, that naturally made it a target.

"Looks like we've got a full forty down there with a tank," Jedi Knight Durel said, lowering the binoculars from his face and looking at the clone trooper. "What do you recommend, Dreamer?"

One of the information banks of the Bothans lay ahead of the droid forces, one with valuable intelligence on the Separatists that had been recently uploaded by the little spies. The Republic had yet to send someone with the authority to pick it up, leaving the few Republic forces on the planet in the uncomfortable position of defending it instead of simply bringing it to Coruscant.

"Hard to say," the clone trooper said, staring down the canyon at the clone troops below. "Guerilla warfare's been working well to slow them down, but we can't take on forty and a tank."

"We've got enough Bothans to do it, I believe. Ten should be enough."

"Perhaps, General," he said as the Zabrak stood up next to him. "But I don't know that we can do it without losses."

"You may have a point." He scratched at one of the horns on the crown of his head. "Hm...Would you be able to draw some of them off?"

"Of course, sir. How many would you need?"

"Half of the droids and the tank, and you get the Bothans."

"Deal, General."

Calling the Jedi Knight a general was stretching it, and they both knew it. While he held the rank of general, the Zabrak didn't lead armies or battalions. All he did was run special missions, small operations that could reverse the course of a planetary battle but required only a handful of elite soldiers.

"Alright. There's an intersection about three-hundred meters up. We need to hustle."

The Zabrak took off at a run toward their speeders, and CT-1552 was right behind him. Along the way, a small group of Bothans joined them.

The small furry aliens were a tricky kind, that much Dreamer knew. For all their scheming and trickery, however, they were excellent guerilla fighters. Their size made them difficult targets to hit, and it seemed as if everyone on the planet had been trained with a blaster since they were children. While they would never serve as an effective army, they were absolutely peerless special operatives.

The Jedi Knight had yet to ignite his lightsaber. It was a favorite trick that Dreamer had seen him use time and again, to wait until some of the enemy unit had already broken off before he activated his weapon and drew attention to himself. Every single time, the droids fell for it.

They clambered onto their vehicles and took off through the sparse vegetation above the canyon walls, barreling toward an intersection far ahead. The path wound down, leading them deeper into the canyon as they approached their destination.

"Alright," Dreamer said when they reached the intersection. There was adequate cover, boulders aplenty and brush livened by the streams in the bottom of the canyon. "Operatives, with me."

"Following," one of the Bothans answered in a choppy semblance of Basic.

The diminutive aliens followed the clone trooper down one path while the Jedi took the other. Dreamer didn't set themselves right on the mouth of the path, moving further in to allow them more cover to fall back.

Dreamer heard them before he saw them, the steady clank of the droids' uniform footsteps and the dull rumbling of their tank. He kept his rifle aimed in, the DC-15 steadied on the boulder he knelt behind. The clone waited in tense silence, a familiar deceptive calm before the storm of battle.

He didn't fire when they came into view, waiting for the droids to pause in the middle of the intersection.

"Which way do we go?" one of them asked, turning to his metal comrade.

"The commander should know." They looked up to the tank. "Commander, which way do we go?"

"Forward," a voice said inside the armored vehicle.

"There's a split in the path."

"What?"

No longer amused with his enemies' antics, Dreamer opened fire. The blue bolts of the weapon cut into the unaware droids, who immediately cried out in alarm and spun to face the clone.

One thing that couldn't be said about the droids was that they were slow to react. For all their bumbling personality, they still possessed the processing power to adapt to changing conditions quickly.

But Dreamer wasn't alone. When return fire forced him back down under cover, the red blaster bolts of his enemy carving the air over his head, the Bothans took their turn.

They had hid all over the path, small enough that it was easy for them to find good cover. They opened fire, cutting into the enemy lines. While they weren't quite as accurate as the clone, they still did enough damage in their first salvo that the droids had to step over their fallen brethren to advance.

Dreamer started to move to the next position as the tank rumbled toward them, only to pause when he heard an alarmed cry from his general.

"Ambush!"

"Hold your position!" Dreamer shouted to the Bothans.

Instead of running from the fight, he ran right toward it, pumping his arms for speed and diving behind a boulder in the split. He turned to glance down at the Jedi's path.

Droid destroyers had emerged from behind General Durel, along with another tank. The Jedi was desperately trying to fend off the attack at both sides, his dual-sided lightsaber flashing green with each deflection.

It seemed that instead of springing an ambush, they'd played right into a trap. Whoever was conducting this attack had known they were on the planet and had likely known enough about General Durel to know where he'd be making his stand.

It all spoke to a gnawing sense that Dreamer had, dismissed by his brothers as impossible. There had to be some mole in the government, someone working against them.

For the moment, though, he could do little but try to help the Jedi Knight evade the trap. He kept up his fire on the front lines, even tossing an EMP grenade that wiped out a small handful of droids. The tank was closing on his position, but he had to hope that General Durel would get back in time.

"General!" the clone trooper shouted. "General, over here!"

The Jedi Knight managed to get close, but no amount of gunfire or deflections could change that the general was pinned down at the front and back by tanks and blasters both.

General Durel was hit just before he reached Dreamer, a blaster bolt punching through his upper torso. With a gasp, the Zabrak Jedi toppled, landing right next to Dreamer.

The clone didn't hesitate, dragging the Jedi the rest of the way as the droids attempted to finish the job. He pocketed the general's lightsaber, then heaved the still-breathing general onto his shoulder.

He dearly wished he could've stayed and continued the fight, but the destroyer droids would soon be upon them. In combination with the battle droids and a pair of tanks, there was nothing that he or the ten Bothans could do.

With that in mind, Dreamer pushed off from the boulder, moving as fast as his legs could carry him as he was weighed down by the Jedi.

It was a combination of luck and the Bothans' skill that delivered the clone trooper back behind the boulder he'd originally began the attack from.

While the Bothans had managed to remain unharmed during the battle, partially out of Dreamer's rush to the front, there were more battle droids marching up from behind to block off their escape.

"To the rear!" Dreamer shouted. "We need to escape!"

Of course, he doubted the Bothans would manage it alone. Once the battle droids were in range, they would cut down the alien soldiers as they lay exposed. Then it'd be Dreamer's turn.

He still had an option, one he immediately sought out.

The clone grabbed his speeder, pulling it to him and fishing the detonation charges from his pack. They weren't his first choice, and they were just as likely to collapse the canyon walls as not, but he had no other options.

He looked up at the approaching battle droids and quickly set a ten second timer before turning the speeder around and setting it on autopilot.

The vehicle shot toward the line of droids, who seemed far more interested in the Bothans than the improvised explosive charging toward them. Dreamer heard the grind of the destroyer droids behind them as they rolled toward his position, and he tossed a smoke grenade behind him.

With a detonation that rocked the entire canyon, the battle droids were laid low just as the smoke grenade exploded behind him, screening the dozen Republic troops from view.

"Run!" he shouted.

The Bothans didn't need to be told twice, taking off from their position and to the pile of battle droids that were still attempting to get up. A few of the aliens took a moment to finish off the droids, but most just carried on to escape.

Dreamer was right behind them, his legs and back both screaming from the effort of hauling the limp Jedi. He snagged one of the Bothans' speeders on the way by, the floating vehicle coming with him with little resistance as he ran.

Once he judged them far enough away that they were out of range, the clone set his general down on the back of the speeder.

The Jedi Knight was still breathing, but the bolt had been close enough to his heart that the clone feared permanent damage would set in if he didn't see proper medical attention soon. As he continued to follow the Bothans, Dreamer lifted the comm unit at his wrist to his helmet.

"This is See-Tee-One-Five-Five-Two," he reported. "Republic command, we have a Jedi wounded and Separatist forces bearing down on one of the intelligence databanks. I have enough forces to keep up a defense, but I can't hold unassisted. Please advise."

For a moment, there was no answer. Republic officers were likely scrambling on the other end of the call, trying to figure out the appropriate response to a mission that had gone so awry. Finally, a voice all too familiar answered.

"One-Five-Five-Two, this is Command." The voice belonged to one of his brothers, a clone. "We'll be sending a small transport with supplies and to pick up the general, everyone else is engaged."

The clone trooper didn't begrudge the lack of support. Bothawui was never supposed to be a battleground, and the forces protecting it were sparse. While reinforcements were incoming, the surprise attack had left the Republic slow to respond. General Durel had simply been in the area at the time of the sudden assault, and if it weren't for his strategies, the Separatists would've already managed to infiltrate well over a dozen databanks.

"Roger, Command. Be advised, we have close to sixty battle droids, five destroyer droids, and two tanks bearing down on us. I think I can set up a defensive perimeter at the databank and defend it there if I have the right supplies."

"I'm receiving orders from higher up," Dreamer's fellow clone said. "They want that intel, and the Bothans are authorizing retrieval by any means necessary. That means you, One-Five-Five-Two."

"It'll be done, sir. I can't promise that the databank will be in one piece."

"You have your orders. See that the intel gets back here."

"Roger."

"We fight?"

The question came from one of the Bothans, Corporal Gebb-Tik. The small alien stared up at the clone trooper, fear in his brown eyes as he rubbed at the small beard formed by the fur at the end of his snout.

"Yes," Dreamer said, kneeling down to look at the aliens. "But I have a plan..."


	3. Chapter 3

**Kurik Otela –** **Ryloth**

Sixteen was quite young for a pilot, if their captain was to be believed. Then again, their Devaronian captain had become a pilot at the age of fourteen, but he insisted that it was all the time spent on dust balls in the Outer Rim.

But the entirety of the crew was scraped from the scummy underbelly of the Outer Rim. Two of their cremembers had passed through prison. One of them had escaped a murder charge by murdering the witness.

Kurik was little different in origin, but he was a simple street kid instead of a hardened criminal. He very well could've ended up like one of the other crewmembers had he gone without intervention, but Dilt had seen him take a speeder joyriding out on Bespin and picked the young man up as a pilot.

From there, it had been all smuggling, all day, for every moment of his life. They'd eventually become notorious enough to earn some private and very quiet contracts from the Republic, who paid well enough that they never had to worry about a meal for the next month.

The Separatists had offered to buy them, as well, but any smuggler worth their salt knew that smugglers and the shady types who prowled the underworld ended up missing once they started working with the droids.

So when they'd landed on Ryloth by skimming underneath a Separatist blockade, they'd expected to be hauling people back to the Republic, whether injured or dignitaries. Instead, they'd been met by a Chiss who'd been stuck on the planet since the blockade had begun.

And what he had surprised them all.

"So...explain to me why a Jedi isn't delivering this holocron," Dilt said, shifting the rifle in his arms as he spoke to the Chiss lieutenant. "This seems like Jedi Council business, not smuggling business."

"Because of that." The alien pointed his finger skyward, and Kurik didn't even have to glance up to look at the Separatist cruisers hovering overhead. "I hope you have a good pilot."

"We do."

The silence that ensued was familiar to Kurik. Many wouldn't believe that a teenager whose eyes always remained covered could ever be a pilot. But they didn't know that he could see, that he could sense everything around him.

He'd never known where he'd come from and had always thought himself a human until a passing Togruta had called him something else, something he hadn't been able to recall. He'd also said that the teenager could've been a Jedi, had he been found at a younger age.

"A blind kid?"

Kurik could see, but it was an ability to be mastered just like any other sense. He'd been told that others saw with clarity, with vividness. His world was composed of smoky shadows, always moving between greys, whites, blacks, reds, and blues. He'd never see a blade of grass, he'd never see the color of the sun that beat down on him. Only the shades.

"Don't worry about him," Dilt told them. "We better be making some serious pay for this."

"The Jedi Temple promised to have payment upon delivery." A pause, an uncomfortable cough, then, "They want me to impress on you how important this is. They told me there are a number of locations in there that are deeply important to them."

"We'll take care of it. We've never failed a delivery before."

"I assume that's why they hired you." The Chiss' voice grew solemn. "One last thing. This cannot be traced to our people. If the Separatists find out we were housing this, there would be retribution, retribution my planet wants no part of."

"Understandable. If we get caught, we'll destroy it."

"Short of shooting it into a sun, I don't know that you can destroy it. I just wanted you to know that this isn't some illegal pet or a crate of weapons."

"I get it, I get it. We already have a plan."

"You'd better. I must return to my planet, now. This planet is far too hot."

"Good luck to you too, then."

The alien handed over the holocron to their captain, a blinding cube of white light that forced the young man's eyes away. Then he sunk his hands into his pockets, turned back toward the village he'd emerged from, and started walking. They watched after him for a moment, then turned back toward the direction they'd come from.

The crew of six departed from the Chiss special operative, headed back for their vessel. Kurik had managed to fit it into a convergence between canyons, a narrow pass that would be difficult to maneuver out of but that nobody would think to look for them in.

"They really wanted this off their hands," Tema said, and Kurik turned to find a smile on the shadowy figure. "Must've been frightened of it or something."

"Mmm, I've heard rumors about the man who's leading the Seps," Dilt said, scratching at a horn. "There's more than just the clones and the droids, I think. I don't know much about the Jedi's enemy, but I know they have one. Could be that the Chiss government just doesn't want to become embroiled in anyone's politics."

"I think we should just focus on getting this thing off our hands," Kurik told them.

"You could always try to see what's inside. You can use that Force stuff, can't you?"

"I guess, but not like everyone else does. Just to see and keep us out of fire, and that's about it."

They turned a corner to find their ship lying on the ground ahead. The _Barloz_ -class freighter was a bulky vessel, an older model that was slowly losing its relevance around the galaxy. They'd outfitted the cargo vessel well, an expensive and time-consuming investment that nevertheless made the innocent transport a powerhouse.

"Alright," Dilt said. "I don't know that well be able to get out the same way we came in, so we're gonna pull one over on them."

"The false goods gambit?"

"That's what I'm thinking," the Devaronian replied. "We'll declare ourselves once we get up there. They can go ahead and scan, we turn over the cheap stuff and a little extra to get by, and they don't come looking for our _real_ cargo." He turned to Kurik as he lowered the ramp. "Kid, get us started, we've got to cover this thing up with some Wookie-hair rugs."

"You got it, boss."

The pilot boarded the _Jack of Trades_ , walking through the narrow corridors of the vessel until he got to the front. The cockpit was cramped and stuffed with trinkets that the young man had collected on many of the planets they'd visited.

Kurik started up the the vessel and waited as he heard shifting in the back. Once the rest of the crew was done hiding the holocron and laying out their bait, Dilt called up to front.

"We're ready, kid, take off."

It took him a few extra seconds to shimmy the vessel out of the canyon, but once they were above ground level, he piloted the _Jack of Trades_ up into the clouds and toward the atmosphere. Once they'd broken that, the Separatists came into view.

The blockade was plain as day to the pilot. He saw each of the vessels, grey dots on the horizon of varying size. Cruisers, stations, and battleships, all with the intent of keeping people from getting in. Luckily, many blockades were not so thorough on keeping people in, especially when it came to the greed of Separatist commanders.

He heard the warning on the panel in front of him, a light pulsing in a lighter shade of grey than everything else around him. He already knew what it was, the same thing that was jammed when the vessel had to deal with any blockade. Before the enemy commander even made contact, he opened up a comm channel.

"This is the _Immovable_ ," came a stern voice. "There is currently a Separatists blockade over this planet. State your business or be fired upon immediately."

"Private industrial goods being moved to Hoth," the young man said immediately. "No Republic business being done here."

"Private commerce is restricted during a blockade." The man sounded almost bemused. "No, I think you're hiding something. Bring your vessel to a halt and standby for a boarding party."

"Roger roger." The young man made sure to sound exasperated. Part of the smuggling trade was being a good actor, something he'd learned the moment he'd stepped aboard.

He slowed the ship until it was nearly stopped, then left it drifting with the engines off. After a few minutes of tense silence, he looked through the shielding to see a vessel detaching from the blockade and slowly making its way toward them.

Something about the vessel made him squirm, made him uncomfortable. There was something inherently _wrong_ about it, a spurious feeling he could put a finger on. He'd been scared before, he'd been worried about a run failing, but those were feelings of anxiety that were nothing like the almost sick feeling beginning to churn in his stomach.

Then he saw it, a bright pinpoint of red aboard the vessel. Though he knew little about Jedi, the Force, or anything to do with the Jedi's enemy. But he did understand that the Jedi were blue, and that the evil that made his stomach turn so was red.

"Guys!" he shouted. "Guys, we have a problem!"

"What is it, kid?" Dilt leaned into the cockpit.

"There's someone on that vessel," he said, pointing. "Somebody I don't like."

"I don't know what that means, Kurik."

"The Jedi, they're blue. Whoever's on there, they're red."

There was a pause, then, "Looks like we're running, then. I'll get the crew ready. Do what you have to do, because we can't let them on board."

"I'm trusting you on this, boss."

It was only their hyperdrive that was blocked, enough distance from the blockade would give them the room to jump out of the system. That meant he could kick on the engines to full thrust, avoiding a couple of lasers from cruisers that were a little more reactive than most.

Kurik sped toward the shuttle, which happened to be coming from the weakest point of the blockade. He could see specks of grey streaming from the cruisers all around, fighters who wouldn't manage to get to them in time.

The cargo vessel was fast, and he was able to reach the shuttle in seconds. As he approached, the controls shuddered, and the _Jack of Trades_ slowed.

"Nonononono," he muttered, gunning the engines to full speed.

The ship continued to slow, but as it started to pass over the shuttle, it gained momentum and managed to break away. He wasn't sure what had happened, more than willing to blame the sudden malfunction on the same poor luck that constantly dogged their crew and that they still managed to overcome.

Then the _Jack of Trades_ was ahead of the shuttle, headed toward a lone cruiser. Kurik kept his distance, and he heard the dull _thud_ of the laser cannons firing as his crewmembers helped hold off any nearing droid fighters.

Kurik always had a way of being out of the line of fire even before the enemy fired, always managing to fit the ship into the tight spaces between the bursts of lasers. He assumed it to be the same strange ability that kept him seeing, leading him through the oppressive fire of the cruiser and out to the other side, even managing to weave and dodge as the starcruiser took shots at their back.

Then the beeping stopped, and the space ahead was clear. The young man charted a course to Coruscant as quickly as he could, then turned on the hyperdrive.

And as the stars started to stretch around them, he let out a sigh of relief.

 **And there are my three characters. I actually don't know about this one, because I'm not sure if Miralukans are (or more to the point, will be) canon anymore, but ah well. As stated, this story will be toward the tail end of the Clone Wars, then time skip into the Galactic Civil War. I'll be at this for the long haul, more than likely, and I'll update this when I update this. These first three were written in a time period that's more anomaly than the likely standard.  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Padawan Neria Halai - Geonosis**

"Still nothing, Master."

Neria suspected it wouldn't be the first time she said it. There hadn't even been a grain of sand or chunk of dirt out of place ever since that initial attack. She was starting to suspect that the Jedi Knight was wrong, that the droids had simply been testing their defensive.

Yet she still felt it, an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach unlike anything biological, a feeling that she knew to be a warning from the Force.

"Keep at it," he told her, his voice calm and steady as he meditated with her. "I feel something off, and you should, too."

"I _do_ sense that, but I can't find anything specific."

And almost as soon as she finished saying it, she felt it. The same kind of sixth sense of someone looming over her shoulder unseen, the impression of not being alone in a room. It was right outside the entrance to their tent.

She snapped her weapon on, her master following right behind her.

"Stay here," Master Kullenan ordered her. "I'll go check on it."

He kept only one side of his blade ignited as he moved toward the entrance, while Neria continued to pan a scrutinizing gaze around the tent, looking for any possible tricks that could be waiting for the two of them.

Once outside, her master glanced at something on the ground, then there was the snap and hiss of another lightsaber.

She didn't get much of a look of the man wielding the other saber, only that he wore robes that were dark in comparison to her master's brown and white. His red lightsaber clashed with the Jedi Knight's. Neria rushed to assist, then there was a cry behind Master Kullenan, and a bolt of red cut through his back.

"Master!" she cried as he sank to the ground, motionless.

A tidal wave of emotions rushed through her. Sorrow, rage, fear. She knew that she shouldve banished them, she knew they were the kind of emotions that would feed the dark side. But faced with at least a pair of assassins who'd killed her master, one of which wielded a lightsaber, she wasn't sure she would live long enough for it to even begin to take hold.

She rushed forward to aid him, and she finally saw the pale, leering face of the enemy Force-wielder, a shock of messy dark hair decorated with braids and beads clashing against his skin. Orange eyes flecked with bemusement watched her.

He thought her easy prey now that he'd killed her master. But she wasn't that far removed from the Jedi Knight in pure combative skill, and now he'd be facing her without a surprise on his side.

But that didn't mean a chill didn't settle into her spine, that her arms didn't shake with fear. She'd heard the whispers in the halls of the temple, the rumors that had filtered their way down from the Jedi Council.

Sith. Every padawan and apprentice had heard of the ancient enemy, thought defeated, but the current of stomach-roiling power flowing through him all but cemented her suspicions. She didn't know if he was a true Sith or simply a trained assassin, but he would've had to learn to harness that power from somewhere.

Neria rolled under his blade, and she felt the blaster firing before she even heard it, angling her weapon up as momentum carried the Twi'lek to her feet. She effortlessly deflected the bolt before moving around the lightsaber-wielding enemy, putting him between her and the shadowy figure she could see standing between a pair of boulders.

By now, cries of alarm were sounding through the camp, the clones having doubtlessly heard the blaster fire. Their tents were isolated from the rest of the soldiers, but they weren't so far removed as to take a long time to reach.

Neria only had to hold them for a few moments, but the padawan didn't know if it she could. Dark side energy swirled through her opponents, its disquieting and slimy presence tugging at her even as she stood in defiance of it.

But one look at her master, and she was ready.

A mixture of Shien and Soresu was her preferred form, far less aggressive than that of her master, but easily capable of handling multiple enemies and allowing her to meet the assassin's far more bold attacks.

Neria leaned into her blows, straying away from the measured strikes her master so preferred in favor of driving the assassin back. She made no attempt at finding an opening, the balanced approach allowing her enough distraction that she could feel the second assailant trying to get a shot on her and move to keep the dark side user in between the man with the blaster.

The man she dueled was no pushover, however. He occasionally put the padawan on her heels, his strikes graceful but aggressive, smooth but with intent. There was no attempt to display flair, just simple and effective thrusts, parries, and ripostes.

The battle turned in her favor when the clones arrived, the jostling of their armor and gear informing her of their presence long before their blaster fire. To their credit, they quickly located the second assassin, directing a hail of fire at him so thick that they practically vaporized him, leaving her only with the Force-user.

She found anger in his eyes, rage at his inability to penetrate such a strong defense. But he continued his attempts regardless of the clones, utilizing the same method as her and keeping her between himself and the clones.

But isolating him had left Neria with an opening, one she seized immediately.

All through the fierce and brief duel, she'd felt the call of another crystal, the cry of the Force telling her to use it. She'd ignored it for the time, too focused on keeping herself alive to do anything more. Now that she had more room for error, she deemed it time to heed the weapon's call.

Whether it be the rage and fear filling her, the intent with which she met her foe, or sheer force of increased practice, it was all too easy for her to reach out to her master's weapon, pulling it from the ground as she spun around one of her foe's thrusts.

Neria activated the weapon the moment it touched her palm, the metal still warm from the grip of her master. She continued the spin, coming up with the second blade and thrusting it toward the dark side user.

Her foe tried to dance out of the way, but the attack had been too sudden and the blade was too long. It pierced his flank, driving through his body and erupting from the opposite side. For a moment, the battle went still, her opponent's blazing eyes going wide with surprise.

Then, all too slowly, he went to his knees, the blade carving into him even further as she pulled it back up. By the time he finally hit the ground, she'd sawed him nearly in half.

Silence fell across the small clearing outside their tent. Neria suspected that the clones were as surprised as she was that she had managed to overcome the assailants that her master had not.

Thoughts of her master drew her gaze to the fallen Jedi Knight. Neria rushed to his side to tend to him, but there was nothing to do. The blaster bolt had caught his heart, leaving him bereft of life by the time he'd hit the ground. The cauterized wound was practically bloodless, the look of shock on his face the only thing that truly spoke to the sudden horror of his abrupt passing.

Neria was once again without a master, but Kullenan was the only one who'd been stolen from her in such a fashion. The anger and sorrow that had rushed through her at his death were now a steadily flowing stream instead of a burst of emotions breaking a damn, allowing her to more easily wrest control of herself from them.

But it wasn't easy. Continued stolen glances to his face brought her teetering close to them, but as the clones spread out to look for any other possible assailants, she managed to center herself. It was only when a familiar captain joined her that she opened her eyes and moved her gaze away from him.

"Commander, are you alright?" the clone asked, shifting his weapon in his hands.

"I...I'm alive, Tank." Her voice was quiet, shocked, but still strong. "I don't know if I'm alright."

"Understood." He looked to the Jedi's body as the clones started to carry him away. "It looks like you're in charge, now. If I had to guess, the Seps are going to be here any minute expecting a leaderless army."

"Yes," she replied, still too busy processing her master's death to even think about the responsibility being thrust on her. "Yes, these assassins thought they'd get us both."

"Well, they clearly didn't send enough men to do the job. General Kullenan would've been proud that you managed to fend them off." His helmet turned toward the dark side user. "What was he, Commander? The way he kept up with you..."

"I suspect..." The padawan trailed off, then looked to the clone. "It's not important, Captain. For now, we need to keep his body so that the Jedi Temple can examine it. Also have someone preserve Master Kullenan's body for the burning when we get back home." She paused, hearing the roar of engines in the direction of the enemy outpost. "It seems as though the Separatists are on their way."

As she watched the ships on the horizon, the realization started to hit home. Neria was expected to command, now. An entire battalion of clones, and she had to lead every single one against the Separatists.

"You ready, Commander?"

"Tank, I've never led a battle in my life. All I know is the military strategies and battles I've been studying about for the last two years."

"Then if it would make you feel more comfortable, form our plan and let us execute on our own. Us clones are rather adept at running a battle plan by ourselves."

"My master never let you do this?"

"No, Commander."

"Then send out the call to man the defenses and buy me enough time to formulate a strategy. When I have orders to give, I'll join you on the perimeter."

"Yes ma'am."

"And Tank?"

"Commander?"

"Have someone send a message to the fleet. Let them know we have no commander here."

"But we do. You."

Despite herself, Neria smiled. "Thank you," she said. "But still, send that message regardless."

As he rushed away, she hefted the weight of the double-bladed lightsaber in her free hand. It already felt familiar, like a weapon she'd spent her years learning with rather than one she'd just picked up in the middle of a heated battle.

To some degree, it felt wrong holding onto it. The weapon had belonged to her master, and though he would be burned and his ashes would be left to float away on the winds of Coruscant, it felt like something that should always belong to him.

But then, the weapon itself was irrelevant. It was the crystal inside that called to her, its beckoning more important than the metal shell that encased it. Perhaps it would be better to simply fashion her own weapon out of it, then learn to properly utilize two lightsabers instead of the standard one.

Her time with Master Kullenan may have been short, but he would've appreciated the pragmatism of her putting his weapon to use more than any of her other teachers. She'd apprenticed under a scholar, an investigator, and a peacemaker, but Kullenan had been a soldier.

"I'll put this to good use, Master," she swore to him in a low mutter that reached none of the scrambling clones around her. "I promise."


	5. Chapter 5

**CT-1552 – Bothawui**

Dreamer watched the transport go, his general's arm hanging over the open door of the transport before an armored arm shot out and pulled it back end. Then the door slid shut over the vessel, and he was away.

They'd left a half-dozen clones with him. Not as many as he would've liked, but in combination with the ten Bothans, they were closing on half the numbers of the droids. If he was discounting the tanks, of course.

One of the clones was a lieutenant, outranking Dreamer, but he had ceded authority to the clone upon landing. He'd recognized that as the person with the eyes on the enemy, CT-1552 had the best grasp of the situation instead of the ARC Trooper.

It helped that Dreamer had already set up a defensive perimeter around the databank with the supplies that'd come in from the transport. A trio of portable turrets lined the short walls, the Bothans were spread out far enough that a grenade wouldn't take out groups, and the clone lieutenant was bearing a rocket launcher.

The only snag was the databank was taking too long to process into the computer they'd brought with them. Without know which file contained what they were looking for, they had to hold out for the next half-hour, and only then would the data be completely transferred.

"Command really blew this one," Grouch said, the lieutenant leaning his bulky weapon against his leg. Of the group, he was the only one besides Dreamer who'd seen combat. "Had they given us any indication of what we were looking for, we could've downloaded it and been on our way. But no, we get to stand around and defend this shack instead."

Indeed, the databank was housed in a tiny building with only modest defenses, one of which being a portable shield generator they'd been forced to cover it with instead of using to protect themselves.

"Command's got fires to put out all over, sir," Dreamer said from behind his wall. "Makes sense they wouldn't have the time or resources to just put this one down."

"Still, for the value of this intel, they're not taking a lot of precautions." He shrugged. "Suppose that's what happens when you just have intel drops instead of an actual intelligence complex."

"We do," Corporal Gebb-Tik said from the portion of metal he was crouched behind. "But all we trade in is information. We cannot contain it all in one location."

"Perhaps." Grouch looked out at the pass, where Dreamer could already hear the groaning rumble of the tanks. "Seems like we're gonna see if we can do what a general can't."

It was said that Jedi Masters were worth a thousand droids, Jedi a thousand, and clones ten. Yet with all but two of their clones being shinies who'd never seen the enemy before, Dreamer wasn't sure they quite outnumbered the enemy yet.

"Alright," the clone trooper said. "Whoever's leading them is smart. They employed a three-pronged pincer maneuver, so prepare for them to be clever."

"Clever? When have the clankers ever been—"

The tanks came first, heedless of the turret fire that tried to turn them back. They kept their fire exclusively on the ARC Trooper, his unique armor signifying that he was in charge. Unable to use the rocket launcher, he was pinned down behind the barricade while the destroyer droids rolled in behind them.

"Lieutenant!" Dreamer cried. "The weapon! I can use it!"

"You'd better not miss," he growled, tossing the weapon to the clone trooper.

Its weight was unfamiliar in his hands, but he'd used it before when he'd scooped one off a dead trooper on Kamino. Sighting was easy enough, and all he had to do was pull the trigger and let the missile do the rest.

He did just that, letting a projectile fly.

The tank on the left disappeared in a howling ball of angry fire, the flames hot enough to overload the shields of the destroyer droid next to it.

The troops, sensing an advantage, adjusted their fire to the rolling droid. Without its shields, the combined fire shredded the heavier machine, causing it to collapse and roll down the hill in a jumbled heap of brown and silver metal.

Employing the rocket launcher had left him wide open and the obvious target for both the tank and the approaching battle droids, who were moving around the flanks of the armored vehicles and focusing fire on the sides of the defensive position.

A blast from the other side of the wall threw Dreamer to the ground, ears ringing and his head groggy. For a moment, he went to hands and knees, trying to remember where he was, then he heard the shouting.

"Dreamer! Give me the launcher!"

The clone trooper saw the weapon on the ground at his hands, and he practically batted it away from him, sliding the weapon across the concrete to his fellow clone. The lieutenant picked it up and started reloading as Dreamer looked around.

The clones were giving as good as they were getting, and it was working. The battle droids were starting to fall, and the destroyer droids' shields couldn't last forever.

But they hadn't gone without losses. A couple of the Bothans were down, and one of the clone troopers had fallen, his armor burned through in the side. The clones were standing fast, but the aliens were starting to waiver.

He'd heard tales of it many times across many worlds. The clones were bred, born, trained, and equipped for battle. The locals were significantly less ready for the war when it finally came to them, and time and again they broke. There were exceptions: Ryloth, Mon Calamari, Naboo, places where untrained militia and citizens would fight tooth and nail to resist the Separatists. But not all planets were filled with warriors-in-waiting.

Still, they continued to hold, encouragement from the lone corporal keeping them at their spots.

Dreamer leaned back onto the wall, checking over the top just as the lieutenant finished reloading. The droids were no longer firing on the ARC Trooper, only concerned with the sergeant who'd just been shooting at them moments ago.

Grouch came up seconds later, taking a moment to aim before firing.

The rocket streaked across the field, exploding under the tank and leaving its hoverjets disabled. Two of the destroyer droids were obliterated in the blast, but the tank was still firing. Dreamer was just about to curse their luck when something inside the armored vehicle detonated, reducing it to scrap from the inside.

"We've got it, Dreamer!" Grouch shouted, cheers and howls coming from the clones and Bothans as they rallied and started to mow down the battle droids.

Then everything changed when a man strode out from the rear of the formation, shrouded in a dark cloak far too thick and hot for the weather, a red blade in his hand. He didn't immediately stride forward, sending a blaster bolt right back at the lieutenant that cut right through his armor and into his chest, leaving him dead on the ground.

"Dark Jedi!" Dreamer cried. "Focus fire, men! Focus fire!"

As he charged toward them, lightsaber deflecting anything that came too close, Dreamer went for the rocket launcher. He heard cries behind the wall and the screeching of metal as the turrets exploded.

By the time he'd picked up the rocket launcher, the battledroids were mostly destroyed, but a few were making life miserable for the Bothans who were trying to get a shot in at the flank of the charging Force-user. For his part, the Dark Jedi had closed almost to the wall.

The clones were unable to stop him, and as Dreamer grabbed the final rocket and reloaded.

Whoever he was, the Force-user cut the clones down, slashing across the chest of one while thrusting a hand out and tossing another away.

Dreamer dropped the round the first time, where it clanged against the ground and drew the attention of the Dark Jedi.

Hateful orange eyes were focused on him, and the anger turned to amusement when he saw what the clone was trying to do. He held a hand out, and the rocket suddenly tore off the ground, headed for his outstretched digits.

With the cry of a blaster, a red bolt cut through his shoulder, leaving him to face the shaking weapon of Corporal Gebb-Ti, who had distracted the Force-user just long enough for Dreamer to grab the rocket and make another attempt at reloading the launcher.

Once it was ready, he raised the weapon, but the Dark Jedi had refocused on him. The corporal refused to let up, however, utilizing his small size to jump away every time a bolt was deflected back at him.

But that still didn't give Dreamer a clear shot. The enemy was still holding his hand out, trying to pull the rocket launcher from the clone's hands. The sergeant held tight, then dove away when the Dark Jedi launched toward him at full speed.

Dreamer barely dodged the lightsaber, but he had just rolled up to his feet when he felt something pull him backward.

Whoever this enemy Force-user was, he wasn't as strong as the Sith he'd seen. He'd witnessed a Sith assassin tear through one man after another and battle one of the Jedi's greatest champions to a standstill. He'd seen General Grievous cleave his brothers by the dozens, spinning his lightsabers and leaving no room for a bolt to punch through.

And he'd heard the wild rumors about Count Dooku, of the Jedi he'd felled and the generals he'd fought.

All three would've killed him before he could've even blinked. Yet whoever this one was, he was nowhere near the same league they were. He wasn't even playing the same game. That Dreamer could struggle against his pull told him that.

That fight gave him enough time to whirl around, aim the weapon at the corner of the wall, and open fire.

The Force-user reached out and stopped the rocket instead of Dreamer, the explosive hovering in mid-air. For a moment, the enemy gave the clone a sick smile, one that mockingly told him that he'd given it a good try, for all that it'd done for him.

Then the blaster fired again from the side, and instead of aiming for the Dark Jedi, the bolt cut into the explosive.

With a detonation that flattened Dreamer, the rocket exploded, throwing the enemy against the wall and leaving the clone on the ground. The sergeant wasn't sure how much more he could take of the jostling and concussive blasts, how many more times he could be rocked by explosions and come out of it still coherent.

But he finally managed to make it to his feet, weapon in hand.

The Dark Jedi was a blackened and charred form on the wall, twisting and writhing. He was trying to get back up, trying to reactivate his weapon, trying to take the clone with him. But Dreamer wasn't having any of it, putting a bolt through the enemy's heart that stilled him for good.

CT-1552 looked up at the field.

All the clones were dead, dispatched by the lightsaber-wielding enemy. The Bothans were nearly gone as well, the battle with the droids and trying to cut into the flank of the agent both leaving them decimated.

Only Corporal Gebb-Ti remained, looking around at his dead brothers and sisters with brown eyes laden with sorrow. When he looked back up, Dreamer removed his helmet, the clone running a hand through his short hair and trying to clear the fuzziness from his head.

"Thanks," Dreamer said. "You saved my life."

"And you gave me the means to win this battle." He looked out at the battlefield. "So many dead, and we're expected to win a war like this?"

"One inch of advance at a time," Dreamer said before turning his transmitter on. "Command, we held off their attack. They had a Force-user with them."

"A Force-user?" asked the same clone he'd last spoken to. "A Jedi?"

"Most assuredly not, sir."

"We'll send a transport to take you, the datapad, the body, the general, and any Bothans still left with you to Coruscant. This is the highest of priority, both the intel and the Force-user. The Jedi will want any details you have."

"And I can deliver the intel all in one swoop," he said. "Roger, Command. Send some body retrieval droids. We have a lot here."

"Roger."


	6. Chapter 6

**Kurik Otela –** ** _Jack of Trades_**

The vessel was loud with cheer, now that they were in Republic space. Nobody would be intercepting them now that there were out of Separatists space and past Rhommamool. It had been a tense couple of hours, but now they were home free.

And the crew was celebrating like it, as well.

They'd gathered in the open bay of the main room, liquor in small glasses and some special Alderaanian drink for Kurik.

The captain of their little outfit always told the teenager that they already did enough illegal things to be sentenced to life terms in multiple systems, so why risk anything unncessary?

But Kurik knew better. The Devaronian treated him like a child, and though he could've been offended by the constant psuedo-parental protection from Dilt, it was a feeling of something familiar that he'd been missing all his life, something he enjoyed having around. He didn't know what circumstances had driven the alien to act like Kurik's ward, but it was something he was often thankful for.

Kurik had his 'eyes closed', as he liked to call it, willingly going blind simply so he could concentrate on the drinks in front of him and conversation. Maintaining his 'sight' was no great effort, but it was still effort he didn't indulge in when he found it unnecessary.

Of course, it was always bad when the crew caught him doing it. They often enjoyed jokes at the expense of his disability when he wasn't making any effort to remedy it.

Despite his lack of vision, however, he could still feel the holocron, the device sending slow, lazy pulses of power across the room that he couldn't avoid noticing. It would've been irritating, were the sound not so soothing.

"Kid?" Dilt's voice seemed to be coming from a few rooms down, even if he was only across the table from him. "Kurik, you in there?"

"Sorry." The young man shook his head, pushing his fingers at his temples. "Sorry, that thing is distracting. It's all I can see."

"Distracting? It's in a lockbox in another room, can you see it from there?"

"Yes, but that's not it. It's the...It calls to me."

"Kid, you're worrying me."

"Sorry," he said yet again before looking to one of the other crewmembers. "It's that thing the Jedi have. I can handle all the hums of an engine or squealing from Gertu over there." He directed a thumb at the Gamorrean laying on a filthy couch. "I'm not used to something trying to get my attention like that, though. It's like hearing something for the first time, constantly."

"You're not gonna turn on us all of a sudden, are you?"

"No, Hiru. Keep shooting like you do, however, and I might have to anyways."

"Uh oh, kid's getting mouthy. Might have to dump him at the next port."

"Sure, but then we'll have to actually find someone who flies this heap of trash as well as he does, and that ain't gonna be easy."

The praise momentarily warmed the teenager's heart, only to be cooled when he took a sip of the heady drink he'd been given. It wasn't quite alcohol, but there was still something in there that made the pilot feel groggy.

"So what does that thing do, anyways?" asked Tena, one of the muscle they'd picked up four jobs ago. "S'not much to look at."

"Look, I don't hang around with Jedi, but I've seen those things," Dilt told them. "Supposed to be something like a library for their knowledge, sometimes a key, they can do a lot of things. What I _do_ know is that non-Jedi can't do anything with them, so it's useless to any private buyer."

"Except the Separatists."

"Correction: It's useless to any private buyer that also won't gut us afterwards."

"Might be why the let us smuggle it out," Kurik pointed out. "No reason to fear we'd steal it. Especially once you seemed to know what it was."

"Wonder how the Chiss got their hands on it?"

"Who knows?" Dilt asked. "It's like this galaxy's just filled with junk that exists just to be passed from hand to hand."

"And we're just one of the guys passing it."

"All for credits." He could practically hear the smile in the Devaronian's voice. "Hey, Kurik, there's a case of something good in my office, under the lamp in the right corner. Do me a favor and fish it out, will ya? The money were making off of this one is worth breaking it out."

Kurik put some energy back into regaining his sight, allowing him to stand, navigate his way through the dozen crewmembers, and into the corridor beyond. At the entrance to the hallway, he paused and turned back to the room.

Something was off, wrong, and he didn't know what it was. A feeling twisting and churning at his gut, sickening and oppressive. He practically had to force his jaw shut to keep himself from vomiting.

A grey, twisting mass of writhing shadows far to the front caught his eye, looking like nothing in particular, but large enough to be noticeable. It could've just been an electrical malfunction, the sparks and smoke often giving the same appearance.

"Something wrong, Kurik?"

That Dilt had used his name told the pilot that his distraction hadn't gone unnoticed. Kurik turned back to the Devaronian, seeing some concern on the grey smoking contours of his face.

The pilot shook his head.

"Just...Just a malfunction at the front, I think. I'll tend to it when we're out of hyperspace."

"You sure?" Dilt asked, his hand drifting noticeably closer to his weapon.

"I think so. Don't think we took any hits, but it could just be the strain."

He continued on to the Devaronian's 'office', more a small room with a chair, some speakers, and a vidscreen than a proper office. Kurik had to navigate around the mess on the floor to find the lamp in the corner.

He was the only one who knew the combination of the safe below it, at the captain's insistence. One of the few advantages of his lack of sight was that many authorities weren't quite willing to manhandle someone who was blind, leaving him to easily play up his disability and relative frailty to hide something on his person. Republic authorities were especially easy to fool, the clones always trying so hard to remain approachable throughout the war.

So on occasion, Dilt would stash something in the safe, and when they were caught and boarded, he'd have Kurik hide it. Nobody ever suspected him.

He pulled a small box of Kuned from the safe, a mess of dark leaves that relaxed the body when chewed, imported from Kashyyyk and highly illegal. The only thing left in the box was a Endo-76 heavy pistol, a specialty from the Devaronian's homeworld.

Just as he was closing the safe, he heard something loud. A whine, one that he was entirely unfamiliar with. Blaster fire was next, followed by the cries and glass shattering.

It was the sound of a fight, even if he wasn't entirely sure what the sound before the blasters had been. He was unarmed, his weapon up at the front of the ship. He flipped the top of the safe up and grabbed the weapon before dashing out the way he'd just come from.

Kurik saw him now, a maelstrom of red in human form, a blazing beam of red light erupting from his hands and cutting through his fellow crewmembers. He was graceful, quick, and always seemed to know where the blaster bolts would be. He blocked them all with his weapon, sometimes sending them right back where they'd come from.

The twisting sensation clenching around his stomach only intensified, the sickening feeling almost incapacitating the teenager.

A Sith.

Even though he wasn't quite as versed in the history and knowledge of the galaxy as Dilt or the higher echelons of the galaxy, the Jedi he'd once met had mentioned them in passing. Some old enemy of theirs, something that was supposed to be gone. It was an educated guess, but whereas the Jedi often radiated a warm, comforting blue, this one was pulsing with a disquieting, sickly red.

Kurik made to fire, before realizing that he would have about as much chance of killing the intruder as the rest of his crew, who weren't holding up well against him. Instead, Kurik realized that there was only one thing aboard that the Sith could be after.

The pilot ran back to the strongbox, inserting his key and opening up the box. The bright white artifact was waiting, shining softly and urging him to take it, to use it. He grabbed it up from the strongbox, slammed the lid shut, then ran back into the corridor with the intention of hiding away.

But it was too late. The Sith was already there, lightsaber held out to the pilot as if expecting the teenager to reciprocate.

"Um...Hi."

"Jedi." His voice was bemused, sneering. "Where's your weapon, Jedi?"

Kurik took a step back, but the Sith only stepped forward. His voice was deep and thick, well befitting the tall Duros. Its blazing orange eyes seemed to stare him down, leaning over the smaller human menacingly.

"I'm just the pilot."

"Oh?" He cocked his head, curious. "You were the one I was hiding from, you see through the Force, you practically radiate it, how are you..." His voice trailed off, then he laughed, a high sound that made Kurik's soul want to slither back to somewhere near his feet. "Miraluka, then? Interesting."

"What did you call me?"

"And you don't even know." He shook his head. "I think I'm going to take you back to my trainers. They'll be eager to meet someone with your kind of potential."

The pilot noted that he'd said 'trainers' and not 'master'. He didn't know if they had the same structure as the Jedi, but he had a hard time imagining a Sith having trainers.

Kurik saw something moving behind the Sith, and decided it would be best to keep him talking. He didn't look at whatever was causing the movement, knowing that the moment he glanced over, he'd give up his comrade.

"I'm not interested." He tried to straighten his back, tried to look intimidating, but he knew it was pointless. Nobody was intimidated by him. "I rather enjoy my ship."

His smile grew, perhaps catching onto Kurik's protest and figuring there was some way to convince the pilot to sign up.

"You'll have a new one. People like us, we have our own way of getting around the galaxy. If it's credits you wish, you'll find them wherever you go. If it's power you want, nobody will ever turn you away. You can do whatever yo—"

With a loud cry, a blaster opened fire from across the room. The Sith moved to intercept it, but he had been too distracted by Kurik, the bolt finding his arm and leaving him falling back.

Dilt stayed in the shadows, moving toward the door opposite Kurik as he fired, occasionally ducking or dodging a bolt being deflected right back at him. The pilot joined in the blaster fire, keeping the Sith pinned down in the corner of the room while they continued to fire.

"Split up, kid!" Dilt shouted. "Get out of here!"

He disappeared behind a doorway, shutting it at his back, and Kurik did the same, closing the door behind him and blasting its controls.

The holocron was heavy in his hands as he ran, the object shouting warning as if it were alive and knew someone was coming after it. Kurik paused at the next door, slamming it closed and once again blasting the panel.

He sat down, breathing heavily in fear as he saw the red figure retreat back into the room, blaster fire following him as some of the other crew members gave some resistance.

Kurik couldn't beat the assassin with just the pistol, he knew that. He'd have to find some sort of advantage, some way around simply shooting him. Or he could hide, and hope that they made it to Coruscant for the Jedi to sort out.

Then he looked at the holocron and realized that if the Sith had mistaken him for a Jedi, perhaps the device would do the same. And if he managed to get it open, perhaps he could find a way to drive away the Sith.

With a plan slowly forming in his mind, Kurik fled deeper into the bowels of the ship.


	7. Chapter 7

**Padawan Neria Halai – Geonosis**

Neria deflected another bolt just in time, the shot headed in Tank's direction. The captain was still trying to move their mortars into position, while the Jedi and a squad of clones had parked themselves on top of the dune ahead to give them some cover.

She had been surprised by the steadfast efficiency with which the clone troopers had defeated the small army that had been hoping to take advantage of their leaderless forces. They'd held until Neria had come forth with a plan, then they'd smashed through the droids with little resistance.

That had left the clones with nothing between them and the Separatist outpost, and even though she'd been given no order to attack, she didn't imagine that she'd be chastised for taking out the sole supplier of Separatist forces in the region.

Unfortunately, the outpost was heavily guarded by automated defenses. Turrets occupied nearly every speck of the perimeter, and an anti-aircraft gun in the center practically begged anyone to try to attack the depot from space.

Neria could've easily deployed her army against it. The thousands of clones would've been enough to take it, but the losses would be heavy.

The padawan desperately yearned to be the one to tear down the outpost, to deliver a surprise victory to the Republic without assistance, but all the victory in the galaxy wouldn't matter to the troops who died to see it done the needlessly difficult way. She wouldn't subject the troopers to that kind of mass charge when other options were available.

It was with that in mind that she held her ground, more concerned with keeping the few droids remaining to guard the base occupied than actually trying to break through its defenses.

There was a cry as one of the clone troopers took a laser next to her, crumpling to the ground with a dark hole punched into his armor. One of the battle droids seemed to sense an opportunity, switching targets from Neria to the downed trooper.

"No!" she shouted, thrusting her off-hand out.

The same anger and worry that had driven her to bring her master's lightsaber so quickly to her hand flared again, allowing her to easily will the droid away. The Force flowed through her, eager to see her wish fulfilled.

A startled cry ripped from the droid as it was shoved away, hitting one of its comrades before they both toppled to the ground in a heap.

The Twi'lek leaped to the injured trooper, both lightsabers deflecting as they so often had over the last few hours.

"Troopers!" she shouted, drawing the attention of those behind her. "We've got one down!"

A pair of clones rushed up the slope to drag the clone back to safety as Neria continued to provide peerless protection. Once they were away, she moved to the center again, pausing only when the communicator on her forearm beeped.

"This is Master Luminara." Neria had to strain to hear the voice through all the blaster fire, but it was just barely audible. "Padawan, are you still there? Is everything alright?"

The Jedi glanced back to the troopers behind her, still deflecting with both weapons. Then she reached back with one and gestured to a squad.

"Rancor squad, take up my position!" she shouted, waving them forward with the lightsaber. "I have a call to make!"

"Commander!" they cried in response.

The troopers didn't even hesitate, charging up the dune and going flat on their bellies as she retreated down the slope and to the soldiers below.

"How are we on the mortars, Tank?" she asked the captain as she approached the row of artillery.

"A couple more minutes, Commander, and we'll be ready."

"Good." She lifted the communicator to her mouth. "Master Luminara, this is Padawan Halai. Apologies, I was on the defense, but I copy."

"Padawan, what's the status of your forces? The last transmission had Jedi Kullenan down and your forces scrambling to defend."

"We broke through, and I've led us up to the outpost." She found herself pleased by the disbelieving pause on the other end of the line. "We're preparing artillery to soften their defenses before we mount an attack."

"Did I hear that right? You're already at the outpost?"

"Yes, Master, our troops did quite the job crushing their army."

"Well done. I'm bringing reinforcements." There was a pregnant pause, then she came back on. "Tell me, is there any anti-aircraft weaponry at the base?"

"Yes, Master, they have a turret in the center."

"See if you can bring it down, and that will make this much easier. I'm on my way."

"Understood, Master. Padawan Halai out."

Neria disconnected from the call and looked back to the clones to find them watching her. At first, she thought they were ready, then she noticed that there were still plenty working in back. Apparently noting her confusion, the captain spoke.

"Don't sell yourself short, Commander," Tank told her. "We may have made it here without you, but we would've taken far more casualties if you weren't there to protect us." He turned his head to the trooper she'd defended while his comrades had dragged him away. "Mire may live to fight another day because you were there. He'd have been dead otherwise."

She tried to fight back the pride flowing through her, well aware that it was one of many emotions that tempted those who served the light, but a smile still slipped through.

"Thank you, Captain."

"We're ready, Commander!" a clone called from the artillery line.

"Captain, you're better with coordinates than I'll ever be. Give them a firing solution on the anti-air turret."

"Yes, Commander."

She followed him up the dune, once again providing cover as droids continued to trickle out of the base. He called out coordinates to the clones below, and the weapons fired.

The projectiles landed close to the turret, but none of them seemed to be able to reach into the range they needed. Neria was dispirited for the first couple of salvos, torn between the desire to call the charge or defend before realizing there was a third options.

"Second and sixth platoon, give me cover!" she cried.

Scores of clones rushed past her, leaving the Twi'lek surrounded by a mass of pearly armored bodies. She deactivated her lightsabers and held her hands to the sky as the mortars fired again.

This time, Neria reached out to the projectiles, her desperation and fear both taking hold and allowing her to feel them all. Dozens of small objects awaiting a target, all of them small enough for her to hold in a hand.

She gave them the same kind of push she'd given the droid earlier, launching them from their frozen position in the air and toward the stories-tall turret in the center of the base.

A series of supersonic booms rocked the base, each blast setting off one after another in the turret as flames raced up the side. One final blast, and the turret was no more than a twisted heap of machinery sitting useless in the base.

Neria heard the Y-Wings coming before she saw them, and she ordered her soldiers back behind the dunes as the bombs began to fall.

The Jedi kept her hands over her ears, but she couldn't miss the shaking under her feed or the dull _thud_ of each blast as the sound still made its way through her hands.

By the time it was over, she retook her position to find most the turrets gone and all but a handful of droids still operable.

"Forward, troopers!" She shouted.

As one cheering mass, the troopers flooded over the dune, a seemingly never-ending river of soldiers. She let them pass, allowing them to have their moment without her help.

A whirring of sound overhead, and Neria didn't even have to look up to feel the sudden wellspring of power descending on her. When a figure dressed in black landed in front of her, she immediately moved to the side of the Jedi Master to cover her flank.

The Mirialan paid Neria little mind, eyes on the battle ahead. When she realized that the clones were taking care of the base without a hint of difficulty, she turned to the padawan.

"Did you have difficulty with the turret?"

"No, Master. I had to guide the mortars to get them there, but the soldiers kept me protected while I did so."

"Really, you've learned to actually use the Force beyond simple dueling?"

"I have, but..."

"But?"

"I can only reach for it when I fear for my life or when I'm angry." Noticing a foreboding frown beginning to form, she hurried to explain. "I know, Master, I know, but it was the only way to defend myself." She looked back at the clones. "And the only way I could stop so many clones from dying."

"That may be, but such is the temptation of the Dark Side," the master said. "Almost always used with the best of intentions the first few times, and always far too easy to rely upon until you find it all you know." She sighed. "At least you're learning, and we can explore how to channel that knowledge in a way keeping with our tenets."

"Yes, Master."

The Mirialan looked past her to the base below, where the clones were already beginning to take stock of their injured and wounded.

Master Luminara shook her head, black headdress swaying with each movement. "This is the third time, Padawan," she said. "I've been on this planet three times, now, fighting the same battle with little variation again and again. Why does it never want to remain calm? Why do they always continue to rebel?"

"I...don't know, Master."

"Worry not, young one, it seems to be a question without answer by now. We've all lost too much to this war. Knights, Masters...Padawans." She seemed momentarily distracted, then she shook her head and turned her attention back to Neria. "I'm to understand that you reported a Sith here?"

"Yes, Master," she answered, gesturing back to the camp. "He and another man killed Master Kullenan, and they almost killed me. He had a red lightsaber, and he could use the Force."

"And did he duel Master Kullenan?"

"No, he distracted him so that the other could shoot him in the back."

"Doubtful that he was a true Sith, then," she said, thumb scratching against the dark markings on her chin. "An assassin trained in the Force, perhaps, but not the real thing." She looked up and, noting the disbelieving gaze of the padawan, elaborated. "I've fought a Sith before, young Padawan. An apprentice. On even footing, I could not beat her."

"I see."

The padawan found herself dispirited. Both that there was a more difficult fight out there than the assassin that had nearly claimed her life, and that the master had so easily dismissed what was the young Jedi's greatest moment.

The Mirialan seemed to notice her gloom. A soft look lit onto her face.

"The Jedi Council will be no less impressed for it, Padawan. Fighting off assassins is still no easy task, especially for one so tenuous at utilizing the Force. Not to mention fighting off the droid army and seizing the momentum to lead your soldiers to victory." She looked down at the weapon in Neria's off-hand. "Is that his?"

"Yes, Master. It feels...wrong, somehow, having his weapon, but it still called to me."

"Indeed, may I see it?"

Neria laid the weapon in Master Luminara's palm. The master closed her eyes, and the weapon floated off her palm and hung suspended in the air. With a sudden series of rapid clicks, the lightsaber seemed to fall apart, pieces stripped from its shell as it was disassembled.

"Master!"

"Easy, Padawan." Her eyes opened, their blue gaze on the yellow crystal. "Ah, it's not quite ready for you." With a sly turn of the lips, she looked down at Neria. "You must open yourself to it, I suspect. Still, you were right, young one. The crystal calls to you, but the weapon is not meant for your hand. Take it, and the weapon will be returned to his side to be burned with him."

The Twi'lek reached out and plucked the crystal from the air before the weapon started to reassemble. It practically sang to her, lulled her. Master Luminara had been right, the crystal truly did call to her. She wondered that she had never heard it before.

"Thank you, Master."

"I'll take care of the cleanup and instillation of a garrison down here. Again. You should report back to the Jedi Council."

"Yes, Master."

"And Padawan?" A small smile graced her green lips as she palmed the now-assembled weapon. "You did far more than was expected of you. Jedi Kullenan would be proud."

"Thank you, Master."

It was the highest praise Neria had ever received, and though she was warned to resist the poisonous effects of pride, her head was held high as she traipsed to the descending transports.


	8. Chapter 8

**CT-1552 – Coruscant**

Dreamer felt an odd rush of anger as he saw the Jedi Temple, the towering fortress that seemed to intimidate and isolate rather than assure peace and harmony. It was a strange change from what he'd always felt when he saw the building.

In times past, the looming temple had always made him feel safe, made him feel like there was some way for a galaxy so divided to find some peace. Aliens from all walks of life, united together in purpose, just like the Republic.

But now, just looking at it was giving him a headache, although it could've just been the repeated blasts that had rocked him again and again. Gebb-Ti had told him that he was lucky to survive after multiple brushes with explosive ordnance, and Dreamer agreed with the little Bothan.

His armor was blackened and burned, there was a gouge in his helmet where a laser he hadn't noticed had torn away at the material, and he felt a few aches that hadn't been present before the defensive.

Yet he still felt victorious, as if he'd single-handedly won the war.

Some of the pride was simply in accomplishment, but there was some part of Dreamer that felt a grand pleasure at once again proving his brothers wrong, proving to them that he was every bit the soldier the rest of them were.

He only wished he could see the look on General Durel's face when the Jedi woke up to find himself back in the temple instead of in the clutches of Count Dooku or General Grievous. Unfortunately, the medical personnel aboard the frigate above hadn't yet seen fit to send him back down to Coruscant due to some minor complication in his treatment.

That left Dreamer descending to the Jedi Temple with only the Bothan corporal, unsure of how to actually report to the council, especially in the middle of the night.

When they descended, he was relieved to find a familiar Jedi Master awaiting at the landing pad, hands at his back as he watched.

Master Plo Koon was a powerful Jedi, that much Dreamer knew. Yet where many—Master Yoda or Master Windu being the most notable—preferred naught but their own company when they had no official duties to attend to, the Kel Dor was far more genial.

Dreamer remembered being unsettled by the strange alien Jedi when he'd first seen him, but Plo Koon seemed to understand that he was a presence intimidating to those who'd never met his kind before. Perhaps that was his reason for being one of the more open and approachable of the Jedi Masters.

"Sergeant," he said when the clone hopped off the transport, the thick device over his mouth modulating his voice into a grizzled growl. "It's good to see you safe from the field."

"Thank you, General," Dreamer answered. "Could've used you down there."

"Yes, I hear that Knight Durel was wounded, but it would've been a dead body we'd be uploading were it not for you." It was always difficult to see the emotion in his wrinkled face with the machinery covering his eyes, but the hand that descended to the clone's shoulder made his feelings clear. "You did quite well, Sergeant, have no doubt."

"Thank you, sir." He turned to the small alien at his side. "Wasn't just me, though, the corporal here did some of the work."

"That's what the report said," Plo Koon answered, looking down at the Bothan. "So, when will we see this mysterious assailant of yours?"

"Another transport was taking him to the council chambers, as I understood."

"Then let us go."

The halls were all too familiar as Dreamer walked them, Jedi of all stripes and ranks greeting the clone trooper they'd all come to know and recognize. Some were still children, younglings he'd been exceedingly diplomatic toward in the realization that he'd be acclimating them to his fellow clones.

Perhaps it had been the time since he'd last been in the Temple, but all of the Jedi seemed tired and colder than they'd been on his last visit a year ago.

"They all seem...different, sir," Dreamer said as they traversed through one of the wide halls. "Sad, somehow."

"Yes, the war has taken its toll on all of us." He shook his head, and there was no mistaking the sorrow in his perpetually grave voice. "Every death affects the Force, and many lives have been lost through this conflict."

"It seems as if we've been winning, sir."

"We have been, but it's a victory that's taking far too long and will leave too many dead behind." He nodded to a pair of padawans who gave him a warm greeting on the way by. "We need to end this war, Sergeant, but nobody seems to know how to do it. At least you managed to find some new plot before it began working against us."

The pain came back, a quick stab that faded just as fast as it had come. Dreamer ignored it as best he could.

"We'll soon know exactly what the Separatists have cooked up," he replied. "Don't worry, sir, I've seen the enemy you Jedi fight, it's not impressive."

"Mmm, I sincerely doubt you found a Sith. There would've been nothing left of the base, you, or your friend."

"It was a hard fight, Master Jedi," the Bothan said.

"I don't doubt it. It's still no small feat." They came to a stop outside a tall door wide enough for three people abreast. "Our sergeant here already knows, but you're going to hear a lot of things in hear that are classified. So what is said in here stays in here, understood?"

"Yes, Master Jedi."

When they entered, only two of the Jedi Masters were physically attending the meeting, the rest holographically projected from wherever they were.

Mace Windu was the most physically imposing of the masters, standing tall and the most obviously deadly of the group. Yet he looked exhausted since the last time Dreamer had been posted at the Jedi Temple. Though he still struck a powerful figure, his shoulders were slumped, his once-neutral expression creased into one far more severe.

Shaak-Ti was at her chair, the Togrutan Jedi Master a presence always peaceful, kind, and forgiving. Her soft violet eyes stared down the object of the council's collective interest. She too seemed as if she hadn't been sleeping well, a crimson darker than the rest of her skin thick under her eyes.

The burned body of the assassin lay in the center of the room, encased in a glass tube to keep the smell from overcoming the room. He looked worse now, now that the burns weren't fresh and the rot had set in. Master Windu was weighing the assassin's lightsaber carefully.

"An amateur," the Jedi said immediately. "He would've been taught by somebody, but he was no master of the Dark Side." He directed his intense gaze up at Dreamer. "Your report said he wasn't even able to drag you to him. Had he been a real Sith, he would've spiked you. Some kind of assassin trained in the usage of the Force, perhaps?"

"Operatives." The gravelly tone came from Grandmaster Yoda, the diminutive alien being broadcast in from somewhere else. "In wars past, seen their likes, we have. Ever since the Rule of Two, shy away from their use, the Sith do."

"Perhaps they find this war expansive and difficult enough to utilize them," Master Secura answered. "The odds are stacked against them, even if they're hiding behind the Separatists. They're losing the war, and they know it."

"Or it's just another shadow to chase," Master Windu said, handing the weapon over to Master Shaak-Ti. "Still, let's think about this. They went after intelligence about a lane into Chiss territory, and another attacked one of our Jedi—this time with a partner. What could they want?"

"Could it be an attempt to delve into our records, like before?" Master Kenobi asked, stroking his beard as he leaned forward. "They had a holocron last time, perhaps they'll be after another. Do we have any incoming?"

"One from Ryloth, it might actually be related," Master Luminara answered. "It's on its way, we'll discover what this is all about."

"Good," Master Windu answered. "The padawan down there, is she also on her way?"

"Yes. I'm not entirely sure, and I didn't tell her this, but I suspect they were targeting Padawan Halai specifically. They had a second man there with the assassin, a bounty hunter. Seems like they were more interested in capturing her than killing her. But they underestimated her."

The clone remembered Neria. A zealous but friendly Twi'lek padawan, handed off from master to master who found her difficult to teach.

"Why her?" Dreamer asked. "She's one of the few padawans I'd actually expect to hold well against an enemy agent."

"Because she's old," Shaak-Ti answered. "Once a padawan reaches a certain age without advancement, it's just assumed they're a failure. If they were looking for a Jedi, an old padawan would give the least fight in any other circumstance."

"Wait for Padawan Halai, we will," Master Yoda said. "Use rest after this battle, you could, Sergeant. Mission coming after this, there is," A smile slid onto the face of the old Jedi Grandmaster. "Still waiting for you, your room is. Perhaps inspiration, you've finally found."

"Thank you, General." The soldier gave the council a salute. "If I may be dismissed?"

"Not just yet, Sergeant." Master Windu looked up from his contemplative stare into his hands. "Their combat capabilities, what can you tell me?"

"I've seen Jedi in action, you wouldn't have a problem with them." Dreamer shook his head at another stab of pain. "It was only by a stroke of luck that the corporal and I survived. The assassin grew cocky with us, decided to toy with me instead of..."

He was cut off by the headache becoming suddenly worse, distracting him from his report.

"Cee-Tee Fifteen Fifty-Two, are you alright?" Master Shaak-Ti asked.

"I'm...Sorry, ma'am." He tried to shake himself out of it, but the pain wasn't so easily dismissed. "I had two close calls with explosives out there, I think it scrambled me a little bit."

"Then see medical if you think you need it, Sergeant," Master Plo Koon said from next to him. "You're a good soldier, we'd hate for you to be out of the field."

"Thank you, General." He turned back to Master Windu. "Long story short, sir, we got lucky. The average soldier wouldn't have a chance, but I wouldn't worry about your safety in a fight with them."

"As suspected," he answered. "Dismissed, Sergeant."

"Sir."

"Corporal, I'd like you to remain behind, If you don't mind," General Shaak-Ti said as Dreamer left the room.

The headache was still present as he walked out of the chambers and started down toward the barracks. While the clones typically lived in open bays on the ground and in cramped squad-sized sections on ships, the Jedi Temple gave their guards quarters of their own.

And in Dreamer's small room, it was practically an explosion of paint, different colors spread all along a wall lined with plastic. A pair of easels with canvas fresh and plain was leaned up against the wall, while everything he had painted had been stored under the bed.

There hadn't been time to collect his paintings when he'd been called up to service. He'd been told they were being taken care of, but he hadn't known if they'd truly been preserved. It seemed as if the Jedi hadn't been lying.

The blank canvas to the right occupied his attention more than anything in the room. His first canvas, one he'd put aside for months for something special. Yet as time continued to pass, he'd painted half-formed ideas and visions that had sated him but had never truly struck as something worth his first canvas.

Dreamer's brothers had all given him grief, but they all had their different ways of coping with the life. Some preferred a good meal, some turned to exercise, and some indulged in illegal trophy collection. Art was his outlet, his sanctuary.

The clone wished he could say that the last year had given him some grand epiphany, but all he had was a headache and a desire to fall into bed and sleep until the next morning.

So he did just that.


	9. Chapter 9

**Kurik Otela –** ** _Jack of Trades_**

The Miralukan pilot was no longer able to see the glaring red of their assailant, and that terrified him. Worse, he remembered the Sith speaking of being able to sense him, to know that the teenager's eye was on him.

He'd never cared to be blind, but he'd also never thought of the gift that came with it as a curse before now. As he slowly slid in between a pair of access hatches, dropping quietly to the floor below, he realized that the Sith could be running him down, and he wouldn't even know.

For the first time in a very long time, he felt truly blind.

It left Kurik glancing around in fear every few seconds, waiting for the assassin to jump out of one of the many nooks and crannies of the vessel and brutally murder him. It was a paranoia developed after years of running illegal goods through port after port, and now it was working against him in the tight confines of the vessel.

The pilot hadn't heard anything from Dilt. He didn't know if the Devaronian captain was even alive, but he had held up well against the Sith in their brief engagement. But they only had blasters, they couldn't hope to overcome the lightsaber-wielding opponent.

However, he had a plan of his own.

Kurik slapped a hand on the panel of the cargo bay, the door sliding open behind him. He scanned the room for some time before stepping inside, locating one of the smuggling panels in the corner, opening it up and crouching to get inside.

He closed it behind him, then settled down with the holocron in his lap.

The Jedi he'd met years ago had told him he had the Force in him. The Sith had confirmed it. He didn't know much about how the Force worked, but he did know that the holocron had something to do with it. Perhaps it could help him.

The cube in his palm seemed to call to him, seemed to want him to open it. He just had to figure out how.

Kurik's vision was tied to the Force, he'd been told as much. So he focused on that small vein of power that always hummed through him, something he was aware of only when he thought about it, but otherwise faded from thought, much like breathing.

He located that power, then paused, unsure of what to do. But with the Sith creeping around and Kurik doubtlessly calling out to the assailant like a beacon in the dark, he had to hurry. He mentally directed his power against the holocron, silently willing the object to open up.

It abruptly did just that, suddenly clicking and morphing into a strange shape that hovered from his hands and floated serenely in front of him.

All at once, he felt a might swell of power crash into him, like sitting down in front of a roaring wave and trying not to flinch back. Secrets, memories, history, coordinates, all of them flashing through his mind like thousands of stray thoughts.

He managed to follow some, basic instructions on the Force, on centering one's self and finding peace. It was all meditation, all techniques that would do little to help him right now. He continued to look through it all, momentarily stopping to scan through techniques or tricks that would assist him in the fight with the Sith.

Then it stopped, the pilot momentarily confused before finding the panel opened up and the Sith's orange eyes cutting through the darkness. Kurik could easily see the mocking smile on his face as he palmed the floating holocron.

"And you've opened it?" he asked. "You'll be quite the worthy prize."

Kurik needed to get past him, and he needed the holocron. If the Sith got what he wanted, he could just flee the ship. He remembered one technique he'd seen in the holocron, simple enough that even he could do it with little training.

He found that energy connected to his sight, reached for it, then held a hand out.

The wave that pushed out from his palm wasn't as powerful as he'd hoped, but it caught the Sith off-guard enough that he fell to the ground on his back, the holocron tumbling from his hand.

Kurik took the moment while he could, scooping up the holocron and running for the exit before something wrapped around his ankle and stopped him. The pilot didn't need to look to know what it was, kicking out with his other leg.

He got lucky, his foot colliding with the assailant's face hard enough that the Sith let go.

The pilot shot from his grasp and toward the exit, just about to slip through the door when he was stopped once again, this time dragged backward by the Sith. He had an answer ready, palming his blaster and firing at the assailant.

With a hiss of a lightsaber flashing bright red in Kurik's vision, the invader blocked the shots and sent them careening about aimlessly, but it was enough to distract him and release the pilot from his grasp.

Kurik shot out the controls behind him once again, and he went running for the panel to space the cargo. When he got there, he was dismayed to find the controls sparking and broken, a thick black line through them. To his credit, the assailant had left nothing to chance.

"Dammit," the pilot whispered under his breath before carrying on up to the cockpit. He needed to know how close they were to Coruscant, and he needed to find Dilt.

Perhaps, between the captain's skills and what Kurik had learned, they could fight off the invader. It was a wild hope, but it drove him to the cockpit nonetheless. He found no evidence of the captain when he arrived, but was shocked to find the ship out of hyperspace. Another vessel was nearby, one of the triangular frigates of the Republic.

" _Jack of Trades_ , please respond," a voice said over their comms.

Kurik pressed the button to answer.

"This is Kurik Otela," he replied. "We have a Sith on board and—"

A hand clapped over his mouth, silencing him instantly. He was pulled backward, struggling against the attacker trying to drag him into the shadows.

"Quiet, kid," Dilt's rough voice said behind him. "Look at the comms console."

Kurik did just that as the captain let him go, and he found something small attached to the underside of the console. One side of a transmitter.

"He heard me," Kurik said.

"And knows right where you are," Dilt answered. "We need to run, kid."

They tried to do just that, only to find that they weren't alone in the dark confines of the bow of the vessel. Their intruder was back, rage in his blazing eyes and his lightsaber held forward. He seemed far more focused than before, his shoulders tensed and back rigid. His mouth was set in a grim line, trying to hold back the anger.

"You've both been trouble," he said. "Small-time smugglers, criminals, you shouldn't be this much of a problem."

Neither of them answered. This wasn't their first time in a fight, and the smugglers had long ago learned when words were past their effectiveness. Dilt immediately opened up with his blasters, and Kurik threw his hand up and pushed again.

This time, the Sith didn't seem the least bit perturbed by Kurik's attempts to use the Force against him. A sudden wave of power shoved Kurik back, retaliation from the Sith as he used his free hand to deflect Dilt's bolts back at him.

Kurik tried again, with the exact same results. The Sith was clearly far stronger than him, and now that he knew the singular trick Kurik had learned, he was able to effortlessly turn that power right back against him.

Dilt cried out in anger when the lightsaber slashed across his weapons, and the Sith swiftly reversed the lightsaber in order to bring it back around and cut the captain across the chest. The Devaronian spun from the attack, draped over the chair with his breathing shallow.

"No!" Kurik shouted, reaching out to the captain. "Captain, no!"

"This is over," the Sith said, a snarl on his lips. "You've led me on a longer chase than I thought, but you've become a nuisance I don't feel like dealing with."

He raised his lightsaber, and Kurik shut his eyes in preparation for the blow to fall. All the running and fighting he'd done over the last three years, from authorities, gangs, and cartels, and they'd die with salvation literally in sight.

But no attack came. Kurik opened his eyes to find the Sith suddenly stopped in his tracks, the lightsaber hovering mere inches from the pilot's head. The Miralukan was momentarily confused, then looked around the Sith to find another man towering behind him.

Looming and large, the Nautolan cut an impressive enough figure against the smaller and scrawny-looking Sith. He wore the brown and white robes of a Jedi Master, his weapon in hand but deactivated. His other hand was reaching out to the assassin, stopping him from swinging.

"Master Fisto," the assassin hissed.

"You know me?"

"I know all the masters, _Jedi_." He said the word like it was a curse. "My trainers will reward me greatly for removing a master from the field."

"Trainers? Interesting."

Master Fisto pulled with his hand and clenched his fist, throwing the assailant to the other side of the cockpit and leaving Kurik out of the reach of the Sith.

The Jedi looked none too impressed by his opponent, though it was always difficult for Kurik to tell with Nautolans. Yet he could feel it, perhaps through the Force, that the Jedi Master was completely relaxed while his opponent was unstable and incensed.

"You should lay down your weapon, young one," the Jedi said in a deep, accented voice. "You will not win this fight."

"You Jedi. So arrogant, always underestimating your betters. Underestimating me."

"Sounds like you have a personal grudge. A former student, perhaps?"

The assailant gave no answer, perhaps thinking his opponent disarmed by the conversation. He launched forward, lightsaber sweeping toward the alien Jedi and aiming for his neck.

With little more than a flick of the wrist, the Nautolan's lightsaber was on, glowing green in Kurik's vision as it jerked up to block the strike. The assailant cried out in outrage, pulling the lightsaber back and trying to spear the Jedi.

The Jedi Master almost seemed to be bored as he sidestepped the blow and brought his saber across the assailant's head.

With a cry, the lightsaber sunk in, cutting through the cloth and through part of his head before the Nautolan master stopped. The Sith slumped to the ground bonelessly, the red light retreating from him as he became little more than a grey lump among the swirling shadows around them.

It was confusing from then on. Republic soldiers rushed onto the bridge, the Jedi Master directed them to attend to Dilt, and the captain was hauled off the ship. He gave a couple of reassuring words to Kurik on the way out, his voice wheezing and weak.

Soon, all that was left was Kurik, the Jedi, and a pair of soldiers. The Jedi fished the holocron from Kurik's hand and gazed it over.

"The holocron has been used," was the first thing the Nautolan said.

"I...I opened I," Kurik said. "I'm sorry, Master Jedi, I needed to fight him off, and it was the only way I could think to do it."

"Do not apologize." He crouched down, coming to face level with the young man. "Did you learn from it?"

"Nothing large. Just enough to push him away, I didn't learn anything that would hit him that hard. Certainly nothing like you can do. I didn't—"

"Easy, we're not going to hurt you," he said, cutting off Kurik's rapid-fire excuses. "A shame. You would've been a promising pupil, had we found you earlier."

"That's what I keep hearing, sir."

"You've had a long day, pilot, and your captain's going to be down for medical attention for at least the next day. We'll take you in at the Temple until you're ready to go again."

"I...Yes, Master Jedi."


	10. Chapter 10

**Padawan Neria Halai – Coruscant**

It seemed like it hadn't been that long since she left the Jedi Temple, but she felt different in comparison to her last stay. No longer a padawan lurking in the classrooms and meditation chambers of the superstructure, she was experienced and worthy of honor.

A mindset so arrogant was dangerous for one such as her, and so she tried to will it away. Yet the self-congratulatory feeling was impossible to just force out of her mind.

Between her personal revelation that the dark side fueled her ability to actually apply the Force and the pride coursing through her, Neria was worried. She was a padawan, true, but the dark side was just as pervasive in her, equally content to seduce someone as lowly as her as much as one of the Jedi Masters.

As a matter of fact, it seemed to her as if the masters were rarely swayed, only the knights and padawan.

Neria had crammed aboard a transport that was making multiple stops. Clones, naval officers headed for the academy, new recruits headed home, all were present. Most but for a few of the older clones had given her a wide berth. She held on to the strap above as they descended, errant turbulance or the occasional dodge past an incoming hovercar causing them to sway like reeds in the wind.

The temple was a reassuring presence across Coruscant. Massive, looming, but exuding an aura she found calming. Even as she battled with her emotions in private, the welcoming air of the building they descended to helped to ease the Twi'lek's mind.

It was with some disappointment that she found no Jedi Master awaiting on the landing pad, only a trio of clone troopers and a Jedi Knight. The padawan wasn't even that familiar with him knowing the young man only by name.

She jumped off the transport as it hovered above the landing pad, and it continued on to its multiple destinations.

"Greetings, Master Felero," she told the knight. "I thought, giving what I'd be reporting..."

"You were beaten to the punch," he replied. "Master Fisto killed one on a transport, and Dreamer took one out on Bothawui."

Neria was instantly deflated, all pride in her accomplishments dashed at the realization that she hadn't been alone in her achievement. It took her a moment to formulate a proper response to the knight's information.

"So...So they don't need me?"

The knight seemed to notice the sudden droop of her shoulders and hanging of her head. He became noticeably more straight-backed, and the corner of his mouth was dragged down into a severe frown. The incoming lecture could not have been more clearly foreshadowed to Neria, who'd seen the face many times by her masters before they'd started a rather pointed lesson on whatever trespass she'd committed.

"Be wary that you do not become too proud of your time in battle." He shook his head, looking off toward the spire that held the council within. "Jedi were never meant to be warriors, Padawan. We were meant to be peacekeepers."

"Are we not trying to bring peace back?"

"Through violence."

"And so we...allow the Separatists to merely march through our worlds and destroy what we hold dear so that we can stand on principle?"

"The Force will decide who's right, young padawan."

"You're not that much older than me. The Force may decide, but it relies on us to enact its will, does it not? If we're destroyed, the Force will be thrown out of balance, so it requires our success to live on. Doesn't it follow that our inaction would betray its will?"

"You...You are called to the medical center," he answered, a proper argument clearly eluding him. "Master Shaak-Ti is tending to a Jedi Knight there, and she wishes to speak to you about the after-effects of battle."

"Yes, Master Felero."

She ignored his steady gaze on her back, well-aware of the disapproval knights levied upon padawans who disagreed with them. By contrast, the masters had a tendency to enjoy arguments as long as they won.

Padawan Halai was a presence that the temple bore rather than accepted. Few of the Jedi in the halls stopped to talk to the young woman, and most of those were mentors or teachers she'd had over the years.

It was clear enough to her. They all thought she would fail, so they didn't want to get attached. Even though the Jedi Order preached detachment, even those at the highest level of the heirarchy felt the blow from each loss among their numbers. Every atrocity affected the Force, and melancholy gripped every one of them whenever a world was bombarded or a city was wiped from the face of the planet.

A familiar and fervent hope gripped her. A hope that she would be accepted in their hearts and minds once she finally attained the rank of Jedi Knight. Even if she'd lost yet another master, surely the Council would realize that her breakthrough in utilizing the Force and proven capability on the battlefield meant she should be given another master, if not increasing consideration for knighthood.

Shaak-Ti was one of the more calming presences in the Temple, a rare breed of Jedi Master who hadn't managed to sink into the same gloom that the war had thrust on many of her peers. The only one Neria saw handling the war so well was Grandmaster Yoda himself.

An unfamiliar Zabrak lay on one of the beds, the robes of a Jedi Knight hanging from a well-trimmed figure. Much like Jedi Knight Kullenan, she could tell that she was looking at a Jedi who was used to life on the front lines.

"Padawan," Master Shaak-Ti said. "Welcome. I thought we would speak here, a place of healing. Rather appropriate, I thought, considering the turmoil within you."

"I didn't take any wounds, Master."

"Not physical ones, no. You dealt with death well enough, although those effects may take some time to sink in. I spoke to Master Luminara about you. In fact, the entire Council spoke about you when Dreamer gave his briefing."

A thrill of fear. She knew better than anyone that being discussed by the Council rarely ended in good news.

"And what came of it, Master Shaak-Ti?"

"We're worried. You clearly showed more capability than we'd previously realized, but we're concerned about how you reached out to that power. The dark side."

"I didn't have much time to think of it, Master. I was going to die if I didn't find a way to defeat my opponent, others would have died had I not found a way to redirect our bombardment. It was all I had, and I'm willing to learn a way to find that power otherwise."

"It's a dangerous thing, Padawan," the Jedi in the bed said. "That's what makes it so alluring, that it's so easy to reach out to and substitute for the more difficult method."

"Master Luminara said much the same. You look familiar to me, but I don't think we've ever spoken."

"Jedi Knight Durel," he answered with a nod. "I'm told you also felled one of the assassins."

"I did." She looked up at Shaak-Ti. "Am I to understand that Dreamer managed to defeat one? A clone actually took down an assassin?"

"It's true. He saved General Durel's life as well. It would do you well to remember that soldiers are very capable, as well. If they caught a Sith unawares, it's always possible that they could—with great difficulty—bring one down."

"True," Durel answered with a nod. "And Dreamer is deceptively able." He turned to Neria, green eyes contemplating. "As are you, Padawan Halai. Were you as weak as the Jedi Council believed, you wouldn't have escaped from that fight. I believe Master Shaak-Ti is correct."

"Correct about?"

"Correct that I should take you on as a Padawan." Her spirits, dashed when she departed from the ship, instantly soared again. "I need someone who's very capable, and you certainly qualify. And I myself have struggled with the dark side during the middle of battle."

"You...You would take me on Master Durel?"

"It's been some time since my last padawan, but he was starting at a much lower skill level than you. I will teach you, and you will assist me in my..."

He trailed off, eyes moving over her shoulder and to somebody at her back. Only then did she feel it, a presence that wasn't very strong in the Force, near the level of a new apprentice. When she turned to see their new entrant, she was left surprised.

The teenager wore a jacket and comfortably loose pants instead of the robes of a Jedi. Curiously, although he had a blaster at his side, a stretch of cloth covered his eyes. Between an appearance rugged for one his age and the weapon, she had him pegged as some kind of starship crewmember.

"I was...told to come here?" he asked, shifting to his back foot. "To speak about some...operation?"

"Yes," General Durel said. "I've hired your captain, in one of his moments of lucidity." He directed a thumb at a Devaronion in the corner, quietly sleeping under a mound of blankets. "He took me up on my offer."

"Is he alright, Master Jedi?"

"He'll be fine, he's just been put under for a little while to expedite the healing process," Master Shaak-Ti answered. "We found out what the holocron was being used for. The Sith were after a list of Force-sensitive children among the Chiss, as well as an easy way past their defenses."

"For recruitment purposes?"

"I suspect so, yes. The Chiss are neutral in this war, they would've had a source of children that we wouldn't be able to stop them from obtaining."

"So what do we do, Master Shaak-Ti?" Neria asked.

"We need to go on the offensive," Durel answered instead. "We spoke at length about it, and I'd like to cobble together a team to find whatever temple the Sith are running these assassins through. Once we've located it, the Jedi will sweep in."

"Why have so many, Master Durel? It seems like any more than the two of us will just draw unnecessary attention."

"Such are the dangers of missions like these. We need to spread out and find information, and the two of us can't truly pick up a trail alone. I've already contacted a Bothan who came to this temple with Dreamer, and I'm thinking of bringing a few clones in case we need reinforcements."

"And we have a lead," Shaak-Ti said. "The Hutts claim to have some information about children who've gone missing on Shili."

"The Togruta? Master Shaak-Ti, that's impossible. They've been part of the Republic longer than most, how could a Sith Order hide there?"

"I don't know that they're hiding on Shili, Padawan, just that there have been many disappearances there. Many have been children already identified as Force-sensitive. I suspect the Sith are smuggling them out, some way, but we'll have to visit the Hutts to figure out what they know."

"I'd rather not," Durel muttered, with Neria nodding in agreement. "They're slimy, more likely to betray us as give us information."

"I...wouldn't say so, Master Jedi," the blind teenager replied quietly, raking a hand through a shock of unruly brown hair. "The Hutts are ruthless and more interested in credits than anything in this galaxy, but they usually honor deals and aren't prone to going back on their word. A criminal order of their magnitude tends to depend on it."

"Who are you, again?" Neria asked.

The boy looked at her, and Neria realized that he was staring right at her despite a lack of sight. She suddenly realized the reason for the Force. A Miralukan. Their kind was rather uncommon across the galaxy, but many found their way to the Jedi Order for their inherent use of the Force before teaching even began.

"Kurik, Master Jedi." Being addressed so made Neria uncomfortable. "I'm a pilot, and my captain's the Devaronian over there."

He nodded to the bed in the corner. Neria looked at the captain, then back at Knight Durel, who was watching her carefully.

"So when do we leave, Master Durel?"

"Four days," the Zabrak Jedi answered. "We need to collect some clones for this mission, we need to heal, then we'll be off." He smiled. "For these next four days, however, I think we'll begin your instruction. I should warn you, I'm no gentle teacher."

"I would prefer a harsh teacher to none."

 **By the way, since I've forgotten to mention it up until this point, thank you for everyone reading and reviewing/favoriting. It's nice to be reminded that there are people actually reading, and that I'm not just spamming chapters into the hungry dark void of the Internet.**


	11. Chapter 11

**CT-1552 – Coruscant**

The headache was still building, a steady throb that continually threatened to explode into a full migraine. It had persisted ever since he'd set down on Coruscant, and despite a brief visit to the medics, there was no evidence that it would recede anytime soon. For the moment, it was manageable, but it had even managed to cut in on his painting. Nothing outside of deployment had ever stopped the clone from pursuing his preferred hobby.

It was a worry he couldn't get too invested in, however. Upon hearing that a small team of clones would be coming down to meet them and join General Durel's team, he'd clamped all his armor on, grabbed up his packed bags, and strode to the landing pad where they'd be setting down.

The afternoon sun lit the city in what most travelers recognized as the picturesque scenery of Coruscant. Instead of the serene orange of a busy city in the evening and mornings, the sun illuminated the white spires and towers of the city that was layered by multiple levels of traffic weaving through the city.

Home of the Republic, and it looked ever so grand for the title. A busy city hosting hundreds of different life forms just looking to get through the day, their freedom and comfort both threatened by the efforts of the Separatists.

Corporal Gebb-Ti was already awaiting when Dreamer got there.

The transport that landed contained a couple of Jedi and four clone troopers, one of which he recognized immediately.

"Dreamer!" There was a grin forming under Tank's mustache. "The droids haven't made filled you with holes yet? Color me surprised."

"Actually had a big battle on Bothawui, sir." Dreamer saluted, and he was immediately given the same in return. "It was pretty rough, our Jedi went down before the worst part. Only myself and this guy—" He gestured to the Bothan. "—made it out. How did things go for you on Geonosis?"

"Our Jedi went down, too. Thankfully, he had a padawan who actually knew what she was doing. We would've done just fine by ourselves, anyways, but I don't know if we would have the same casualty count without her. Might've had to face a Dark Jedi myself, too, and nobody survives that."

"I did, sir."

Amusementdanced across his face, perhaps thinking the sergeant trying to make some joke, but when Dreamer only raised an eyebrow, the captain paused. His dark eyes went wide with surprise and confusion.

"Wait, you did?"

"With a lot of difficulty, sir. That's the reason there are only two of us left, instead of nearly twenty. Battle almost took my hearing. Certainly jarred my brain a little bit."

"Did the medical droids take a look at it?"

"They did, sir, they said there was nothing unusual." He looked around at the clones. "I don't recognize the rest of them."

"They were with me on Geonosis," Tank said, thumb going over his shoulder to indicate them. "Don't worry, they know their stuff. We were told we'd be taking off immediately upon getting here, so we're all fed and ready to go. You know where we're headed?"

"I do, you'll be seeing an old face there." Dremer waved a hand, using his other to pick up his bag and sling it over his shoulder. "This way, sir."

"And who's this?" he asked as they fell in, gesturing to the corporal.

"Corporal Gebb-Ti," the Bothan answered as they approached yet another platform. "I've decided to accompany you on this task, the Jedi seemed pretty intent that I do so."

"We can always use a spook," one of the other clones said.

"I'm more of a soldier, but I know how to conduct the kind of unconventional operations that saw us placed under General Durel." His free hand stroked at his beard. "Perhaps that's why I'm here. Investigation isn't too foreign to me."

"Investigation?" Tank asked. "Something to do with the Dark Jedi?"

"Yes sir." Dreamer made sure nobody else was around to eavesdrop before continuing on. "They were after the Chiss, and the Hutts have information concerning kidnapping of Force-sensitives amongst the Togruta. It could easily be related."

"Hmm, Jedi business," Tank said, shaking his head. "It's never good, getting mixed up in their battles. It always seems to end with too many of our own brothers dead."

"You question a fight alongside them, sir?" Dreamer asked, surprised to hear such words from the captain.

"Not how I meant it, Sergeant. Yet when they meet with their foe on the field, we always seem to do little more than get in the way. We contribute nothing at best and are detrimental at worst. Better we keep to fighting droids."

Dreamer supposed he could understand, but then, the clones never really got a choice in the fights. Spotting the cargo ship in the distance, he realized he'd left out a detail.

"I...should mention that we'll be traveling with smugglers," he said. "Haven't met any of the team yet, but I'm to understand that our ferrymen are good people. Actually helped bring down a Dark Jedi that sneaked aboard."

"Seems like everybody's seeing them, these days."

"Just three, so far."

"Nobody likes it when people are so liter...Ah, Commander Halai."

Padawan Halai was a familiar enough face. Dreamer remembered the Twi'lek Jedi as rash, proud, and highly self-critical. She stood at an average size, her blue skin a common enough sight among her people. At his entrance, the teenager glanced up from her meditation with her master. The smile that came to her face was one of the warmer he'd seen among those at the temple. That expression only widened when she saw the clone behind him.

"Tank, you're here."

"I managed to make it for the party, Commander, I've been assigned to your mission. It's good to see you again."

"You too." Her eyes turned to the sergeant. "Dreamer, I'm glad that you're doing well. How are your paintings?"

"They're going...well...they're going, Commander," he told the teenager. "I've been told that you were quite the terror on the battlefield. Rather incredible, for your first time. Most of yours spend their first battles hidden behind their masters' robes."

"I don't know that I'd call it incredible." The Jedi shook her head, cerulean eyes darkening. "My master was still killed. I still needed help securing the outpost."

"I'm not sure I've ever seen a battle where support hasn't been required. You Jedi aren't invincible, you just think you are."

"I don't think I'm invulnerable, and I should be able to handle a battle on my own. Without someone else's help. Master Kullenan did for many years. He'd gone down to planets with only his unit and a few ships for cover."

"Kullenan also had decades of experience, had people around him that were incredible soldiers, and fought solo in the opening days of the Clone Wars," Master Durel pointed out. "The days you speak of were before the droid armies had become truly organized and had learned how to work around the Jedi and the clones. And don't forget that you survived where he didn't."

"And led us to victory," Tank reminded her. "Strive for better, but don't expect perfection when you're so young, Commander. Especially not for your first real battle. Nobody expected you to lead us past their ambush and to the edge of their outpost."

"Fine, fine." Her hand noticeably reached for the small string of colorful beads wrapped around one of her lekku, stopped, then brought it down with a guilty lowering of the brow. "I just...just..."

"You worry, Padawan," Durel told her. "You're on your last chance, and you wanted nothing short of perfection to show the Jedi Council that they weren't wasting their time by giving you another opportunity." Neria's eyes, now wide, turned to the Jedi Knight. "Now that I'm here, Padawan, you don't have to worry. We'll crack the case of how to find the Force without the dark side. After all, I've been told that I'm an unorthodox master."

"For an unorthodox student," she said, brow returning to normal and something much more placid settling into her expression. "Sorry, Master, I shouldn't complain so. It's...Well, it's gotten me in trouble before. I'm ready to go when everyone else is."

General Durel nodded, then the clone trooper found himself the uncomfortable subject of the Zabrak's scrutinizing gaze.

"I owe you some thanks, Dreamer," the Jedi Knight said. "You performed quite a feat out there, and you carried me on your shoulder for a solid half of it. Thank you for saving my life, and thank you for completing our mission."

"It's my duty, sir."

"True, but you soldiers speak too casually of your deeds." As always, General Durel preferred not to refer to the collective Republic Army as 'clones'. He'd once said he found it demeaning to refer to them as something apart from human. "You continue to surpass my expectations at every turn. I sometimes worry that I'll grow too dependent on your heroics."

"Perhaps, sir, but—"

"Is everyone going to get on board before the war is over?!"

The shout came from a ruffian standing at the entrance to the vessel, the boarding ramp extended below him. The Devaronian looked as if he'd spent his life flitting in and out of moments of life or death. Red skin smoother than to be expected of one his age, but wrinkles in the corners of his eyes to underline the hard years that had come with his lifestyle.

A teenager seemed to practically hide behind him, dressed in similar scruffy clothing and with a pistol at his side. Dreamer wasn't sure what the pistol was for, considering that the teenager looked to be blind. Despite his visible deficiency, the boy seemed equally at ease aboard the ship as the Devaronian.

Their ferrymen weren't the first picks that Dream would've made to ferry the team about on a sensitive mission, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and he doubted that he'd ever find smugglers than didn't worry him with their mere appearance.

They hefted their bags and started toward the cargo vessel when a voice stopped Durel and Dreamer in the back.

"Master Durel, a moment." The voice was raspy, familiar, and filled with mischievous intent. "Speak to you, I must."

They turned to find Grandmaster Yoda behind them, the small green alien making quite the stealthy entrance. The wrinkled alien, his long ears momentarily twitching, leaned heavily on his staff as he spoke.

"Is this about my padawan, Master Yoda?"

"Become quite proud, she has." His large green eyes slowly roved over the transport as he spoke. "Reaches for the dark side, she does. Struggled with this before, you have. If capable of reaching to the Force with the light side she is, trials for knighthood, she will take."

"I'll find a way, Master Yoda. She's making quite an effort already."

"Never in question, her commitment was. Only her skills. Remember, Durel, a punishment, the farms are not. To avoid facing the perils of battle, it is."

"I understand, Master. I've yet to fail a student."

"Know this, I do." He paused, then added, "Teach her how to get by in this galaxy, you will. Uniquely qualified to teach these lessons, you are."

"You want her to become an agent? Only a few Jedi ever excel in such arts, certainly none as young as her."

"Not my intention, it is. Trouble for the Jedi, I see. Want our youngest and brightest to be given a better chance to survive, I do."

"What do you mean, Master?"

Yoda stared at the waiting vessel, where Neria was poking her head from the opening at the end of the ramp and gazing at them curiously. For as small as the Jedi Grandmaster was, he seemed to wilt even further, sagging from some unseen burden.

"Know, I do not. Stay safe, you will."

* * *

 **Thank you again for all the comments. I enjoy reading them, and I take any constructive criticism under advisement.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Kurik Otela –** ** _Jack of Trades_**

"Would you mind assisting Neria with this task, Mister Otela?"

It was one of many incredibly polite requests that General Durel had given him over the course of their journey, a constant stream of tasks that he suspected was the Jedi attempting to teach him without actually submitting him to instruction.

At the moment, he sat with the Twi'lek girl, one that pulsed with a comfortable blue light that seemed dim in comparison with the blinding blue of General Durel. At least he wasn't like the masters they passed in the temple, shining with such radiance that it forced Kurik's eyes away.

They were meditating, an activity that seemed to be all that the two did. He didn't know how the Jedi managed to be so effective across the galaxy, considering that all they seemed to do was sit around.

Between them was a stack of cards, nearly a hundred, each gently being stacked into a structure that would've been impossible without the application of some invisible hand or string. The cause of it was clear, Padawan Halai visibly sweating from the effort, her head-tails occasionally trembling with the rest of her. A full score of cards still sat at her side, untouched.

"This seems simple, General."

Durel opened his eyes and looked at the young pilot. "Far from it," he said. "My padawan is learning to use the Force without the stress and worry. Many masters would ask her to learn to lift a boulder or heavy rocks. They require a blunt force of will difficult for young learners. Instead, I ask her to account for many objects that are all too easy to move."

"And that's more difficult?"

"It's just different, requires a complexity and intuitiveness, and it seems to be effective. Padawan Halai, here, won't break a sweat when fighting an enemy, but applying the Force is a task more difficult. Yet I would like you to see what you can do."

"To what end, Master Jedi?"

"Surely you've noticed that when you're more calm and centered, when that gentle thrum of power is near, that you fly and fight better. Perhaps you'll never be a Jedi, but that doesn't mean that the occasional tip or trick can't help."

A convincing argument, and he sat down once again.

Meditation was something that came rather easily to the Miralukan, who had long found it simple to shut away the noises of the world. With his sight already working through the Force, all that was required was that he relax and allow the world to fade away.

It was a strange feeling, reaching out to the Force. Now that he was with General Durel, he had come to understand a lot more about his world than he'd previously known, even in so short a time. The power seemed to be all around him, a gentle hum that soothed his nerves.

Instead of him grasping for it, the power seemed to come for him, wrapping around him and enveloping him in its own aura.

Kurik reached out to the cards, not with his hands, but with the silent will for the power to do it for him. One by one, he joined the padawan in building the rest of the structure, each card requiring little effort to place but the tower forcing him to use an inordinate amount of that power to maintain.

The last card was placed atop the impossible tower, and Neria seemed to slowly brighten, the effort to hold together the entire structure easier now that it had been constructed. Kurik felt a similar relief, now able to focus entirely on the tower instead of splitting his attention to the cards around the room.

"Very good, the both of you." The Jedi Knight's voice was even, calming. It was strange that one so intimately familiar with special operations was so soothing a presence. "Padawan, I'm going to add one last complication to this. Please, put your new crystal on the floor."

Something small and bright emerged from her pocket, floating to the ground between the three. Kurik felt a familiar want to grab it for himself, and guilt came a moment later. They had a policy about not stealing from guests aboard their vessels, especially if those guests could kill them all with ease.

"It seems...different, Master."

"Because it's been with you long enough that it's adapted to you. I believe it's time to try to bring this crystal to its final stage and attune it to you. Until it's attuned, it will not work to its maximum potential. Go on, pour yourself into it, but don't let the tower fall."

Much in the same way that the Force had swirled around him, the padawan reached forward with the same power, wisps of it wrapping around the crystal in a small swirling vortex of blues. It was fascinating to watch, something that he suspected few outside the mysterious order were rarely allowed to bear witness to.

And when that small maelstrom receded, the crystal glowed with the same color and brightness as the padawan, pulsating and thrumming in a way all too peaceful.

"Excellent," General Durel said. "You learn so very quickly. One would almost think that you were just waiting to be taught properly."

"It's all natural talent, Master Durel."

"Pride, careful. Now, put all the cards back in numerical order, this time by yourself."

Kurik figured that the show was over, so he stepped away from the pair as the cards were pulled from random pieces of the tower before being stacked back up again. He figured that he might as well get back up to the helm.

As he walked, he thought about what he'd felt in there. The Jedi Master had been correct, he felt the power closer at hand, just waiting for him to reach it. He didn't know what he'd actually do with it once he had it, but he suspected he could find out with a few more lessons from General Durel.

Kurik was certain that piquing the young man's interest had been the Jedi's intention over the beginning of their journey together. Yet he'd also assured the pilot that he was too old to join the Jedi Order. He didn't know if the knight was just acting out of general altruism or if he had some other motivation.

It was always possible that he was just being straightforward. Kurik had seen a few of his same kind during his brief stay in the Jedi Temple, perhaps the general truly just wanted to help him learn a few tricks.

Kurik walked past the small team of clones, playing cards and sharing old war stories at the center of the table. Only the strangest of their number remained apart, sitting at the table and scribbling on a pad. The Bothan sat in the corner, his weapon disassembled in a dozen pieces on the floor.

A strange group, they were. The regular clones were typical enough, boasting of their feats and comparing past battles. Their captain was practically the shining example of the perfect clone trooper. But Dreamer and the Bothan seemed determined to spend their time alone.

The Miralukan contined on toward the helm, pausing momentarily when he heard conversation down their living quarters. He was momentarily confused about who else would be inside until he heard the voice of the ship's captain and saw the Devaronian in his room.

"I don't care," Dilt said, gloved hand gesturing wildly as he talked over his communicator. "It was thirty for the entire shipment, you can't just hold out on me because one piece of fifty-thousand got lost along the w—Did I steal it? What use would I have for Arkaanian tech? Nobody even uses those weapons anymore."

Dilt's hand reached down to rest atop the powerful heavy blaster at his hip, and Kurik had to stifle a smile. He continued on to the helm.

His short journey was expedited even further by the shrill shrieking of alarms from the front, and he dashed to the controls to find something blocking them from their jump. Before they could collide with whatever was ahead, he pulled down the lever to ease them out of hyperspace.

"What's going on up here?" Dilt asked.

"Something's blocking us," Kurik said. "I'm gonna guide us around it and continue on our route."

"No," General Durel said, easing into the small room with his padawan behind him. "No, you won't. Prepare your weapons, we're about to find ourselves in a fight."

The pilot didn't ask twice, and Dilt didn't countermand him. They'd seen enough of the Jedi to know that they should take him at his word.

When they dropped out, they found a small fleet awaiting them, a pair of starcruisers and his sensors telling him that there were also a half-dozen starfighters in the space with them.

"Get us across, kid!" Dilt shouted.

Kurik wasted no time, pushing the ship to its full speed and balancing the deflector shields. They shot toward the enemy vessels, who seemed surprise to see the ship charging straight at them. But they weren't the pilot's first group of pirates.

Kurik guided the vessel across the top of the first starcruiser, swinging down on the other side and blasting apart an appropriated Y-Wing that attempted to stop them. Then they were clear on to the next vessel, who remained in the way of their flight path.

"That was a Republic bomber," Dilt said. "What are they doing with one of those?"

"Yes, pirates have been getting their hands on our vessels with an irritating frequency," General Durel said. "We don't know how, and worst of all, they never seem to be unaccounted for."

"What?" Corporal Gebb-Ti asked. "Don't the shipyards have an inventory list?"

"They do, and again, all the ships these corporations build for us seem to be accounted for."

"Another buyer?"

"I doubt it. Pirates don't just buy ships, and they usually don't keep so close to Republic space."

"Maybe the Separatists have emboldened them," Dilt muttered. "Alright, kid, we got another one. Get us past, and we're free to go."

He was able to skim right over its slim surface, this starcruiser thankfully nowhere near as large as the lost. Dodging incoming fire was easy enough, especially as the cruiser wasn't trying to blast them out of the void. After all, the ship was worth more to them damaged instead of destroyed.

This time, though, he wasn't able to pass the vessel and to freedom. Something tugged on their vessel—weak at first, then strong enough to throw everybody in the cockpit forward when it stopped them mid-flight.

"Tractor beam," Dilt said. "Dammit. Alright, we've got some spaces that you can hide in. If we're lucky, they'll pass by and—"

"I don't anticipate a need to hide," General Durel said. "You have two Jedi and a team of clones."

"Uh...If you say so. Kid, how about you, you hiding?"

"No, but I don't think I'll mind staying behind everyone else."

"Well then, I suppose you'll need someone to stay behind to guard the ship."

"Yes, as a matter of fact," General Durel said. "I would prefer we not destroy your ship in the course of this mission."

"As would I."

The group rushed to the ship's entrance, gathering the clones to them on the way. The corridor they found themselves in was narrow, with only one way in or out. A choke point, and it was intentionally designed as such.

The clones stacked up around the corridor, behind crates that had been dragged out onto the floor. The Jedi stood at their head, out of their direct line of fire and ready for a fight, Kurik merely lingered behind a crate further back, uninterested in a firefight.

A bright light suddenly flared to life at the corner of their door, and it slowly traced across the edge. Knight Durel and Padawan Neria both switched on their lightsabers, three blades between them that blazed green and blue as they stood tall in the center of the corridor.

They were ready, and Maker help the poor fools that would step over the threshold first.


	13. Chapter 13

**Padawan Neria Halai –** ** _Jack of Trades_**

The pirates had probably been expecting to encounter a lightly-armed freighter crew. After all, it was what the stock version of the vessel was, just a freighter.

When the smoke cleared and the pirates came through, though, it became very clear that the last thing they had expected was a pair of Jedi and a team of clone troopers.

They fired regardless, blaster bolts cutting through the air between them before Neria and her master deflected them, creating a shield for the clone troopers as they returned fire on the small group of pirates.

Given the size of the vessel that had pulled them in, however, there were plenty of pirates to go around, and even as four fell at the entrance, six moved to take up their position. Neria was left at a loss, deflecting blaster bolts in a flurry of movement as it seemed like every pirate that fell was replaced by two more.

The clones held up well, better trained than the pirates by far. They took no hits of their own, assisted by the two Jedi. Neria's master, on the other hand, still wasn't at his full capabilities, his wound slowing him down.

It left Neria trying to make up the difference, a difficult task to say the least. When he started to back up, she did the same. Behind them, the clones crept back, and Kurik remained at the doorway, getting a shot in whenever he could.

"There are too many, Master!" Neria shouted.

"Then find another way!" he told her. "Reach out, find a solution!"

Neria wasn't certain that he could deflect all their fire on his own, but they'd backed up into a thinner portion of the vessel, leaving the pirates clumped even closer together.

The Twi'lek padawan reached out, looking for something—anything—that would help her defeat the horde of pirates. Her eyes fell on a grenade around the back of a Gamorrean raider, the bulky alien in the midst of the group.

Reaching out to them had been difficult enough, but Master Durel was starting to falter, leaving her returning to the fight to continue deflecting the blaster bolts. By now, there were plenty of dead pirates across the deck, but they only seemed to keep coming.

"I have it, Master, I just need a moment!"

"We don't have a moment!" He ducked, a bolt slicing through the air over his head before he slid behind a strut in the wall. "Fight and use it at the same time, like the rest do!"

A tall order, one Neria wasn't sure she was capable of. Regardless, she kept one hand focused on the blaster bolts ahead while reaching out with the other. It took her some time, far longer than she wanted, but she finally managed to grasp the handle of the grenade, depressing the buttons that would set it off before coming back to herself.

"Take cover!" she cried.

Master Durel whipped around another strut, and Neria followed his example, diving forward and behind a thick metal locker.

The explosion nearly deafened her, blowing debris past her position but otherwise leaving her unharmed but for the force of its blast. Once silence was all that remained, she looked up and down the hall to find the pirates gone and their forces unharmed.

"Hey, stop blowing up my ship!" Dilt yelled from the front.

"We'll pay you for the damages, Captain!" Durel shouted back. "Come, troopers, we must continue to their reactor. Padawan, stay with me at the head."

As they ran, it quickly became apparent that Knight Durel's desire to remain in the lead was both to provide additional security for their little group and to keep the pace at something he could manage. He was still a better fighter than anyone in the team, but he wasn't going to be running quite as quickly or long as the rest of them.

The hangar outside was small, meant for vessels like theirs, and they practically stumbled over the bodies of the fallen pirates as they moved on toward the innards of the vessel. There was no alarm yet; she doubted that whoever captained the starcruiser had thought they would break through the boarding party.

The entire vessel was dark, dingy, and dirty. It was a long cry from the capital vessels of the Republic or even the ships of the Separatists. At least as bad as the droids were, they kept their ships clean and free of the foul odor that permeated the hangar.

Although that could've just been the burning holes in the bodies all around them.

At the next intersection, a trio of pirates swung out at nearly point-blank range, opening fire on the team even before they'd settled into a proper firing stance. The shots were inaccurate, but they were close enough that it didn't matter.

Neria was forced to duck instead of deflect, and Tank leaned out from the side to shoot one as the rest of the clones fired on the other two. The padawan pulled up her weapon and easily managed to deflect the next couple of shots away from the clones to her right, needing to do no more as the other two pirates were gunned down.

A wailing siren blasted through the corridor, an intruder alarm. Finally, the commander of the vessel had realized that something was wrong.

Master Durel stared up at the alarm, eyes narrowed, then looked back at Tank. "Reinforcements from the other starcruiser will be coming," he said, voice a little strained from the effort of the fight. "I will stay with Neria as we try to seize the bridge. You take the others to the control room so you can lock down the hangars and any doors that might see reinforcements trying to stop us."

"Right away, General."

"Uh...what about me?" Kurik asked.

"Go with them. You're probably more familiar with the controls and layouts of vessels like these than anyone else, they'll need you."

The smuggler nodded bravely even as fear creased every line in his face. Neria wished that she could've gone with him to ensure his safety, but with Dreamer and Tank on the team, she was as close to certain as she could get that he would be safe.

Kurik ran to catch up with the clones as they moved down one corridor. Master Durel took a moment to close his eyes, and Neria took up a defensive posture next to him in case something tried to attack while he was preoccupied.

"I've got you covered, Master Durel," she told him.

After a span uncomfortably long, the Jedi Knight opened his eyes and looked down the corridor opposite where the clones had gone. Neria watched as his hand clenched around his lightsaber, turning it off.

"Resistance is lightest that way." Instead of the run she expected, he instead stayed at a steady walk that Neria had no issue keeping up with. "Unless they have droid destroyers, I'm reasonably sure we'll be fine. We decimated half the crew or more at the door to our ship."

"If they have droid destroyers, we'll know they were backed by the Seps, at least." Neria shook her head, the small chain of beads attached to her lekku clinking softly. "I still don't get it, Master Durel. These pirates are simple. They here to make credits however they have to. Even if it disgusts me, it's sensible. I don't understand why the Seps are so determined to be apart."

"They found the Republic too corrupt and cumbersome for their liking, simple enough." They paused at the corner to look around, finding the corridor ahead clear of enemies. "Yet they decided to be apart, and that's what I have difficulty with."

"How so?"

"When you face a veritable fortress riddled with enemies and labyrinthine corridors, is it easier to attack it from without or within? Why leave the Republic when it's easier to change it from the inside?"

"Perhaps they're already on the inside."

"The council has suspected as much, but those are spies, saboteurs, and someone we're having difficulty identifying. I'm talking about those diplomats and governments, though, who would rather go to war than try to solve our differences the political way."

"Then we..." Neria trailed off when she felt something strange, a twisting knot in her stomach forming as she looked ahead. "Master—"

"I know, I was wondering when you'd sense them. You're getting better at this already. Come."

The Jedi Knight took off at a run, and she was right behind him.

It was fortuitous for the two Jedi that the pirates didn't yet realize the magnitude of the threat they were facing. Perhaps they thought the intruders to be mere smugglers who'd gotten lucky with the boarding party, but that wasn't close to what came around the corner.

Neria leaped into action, deflecting a bolt back at its owner before sweeping across another's chest with her saber. Knight Durel was just as quick despite the still-hobbling injury, striking away a bolt before slamming his elbow into the head of one of the pirates.

The raider went limp and boneless next to Neria, knocking into her and nearly stumbling the young padawan, but she deflected another bolt just before it struck her chest and slid out from under his weight.

Only one was left, and her master was sending all of his bolts back against the walls and doors around him but remaining in place. Clearly, he didn't want to kill the man, and Neria was sure he wanted her to do something about it.

Neria reached out to the Force, feeling it slowly envelop her in its warmth without the assistance of her anger, tension, or fear. She felt the heat of the enemy's weapon and the energy it violently expended with each bolt. She willed the blaster to her, and the weapon flew from the pirate's hand and into hers.

He stumbled back, not sure what he could do with just his fists, and he surprised both Jedi when he lurched forward to engage Knight Durel in hand-to-hand combat.

Still, it wasn't enough of a shock to catch the Jedi Knight flat-footed. He caught the pirate's punch, then seized him by the shoulder and slammed him into the wall. The pirate recovered unsteadily, but by then, Knight Durel was already reaching out to shove him into the metal of the wall headfirst.

As the pirate slid to the ground unconscious, Neria's master turned to her. There was a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

"That was well done, Padawan," he told her. "I was hoping you'd find a way to disarm him. You truly are learning quickly."

"Thank you, Master. I think we're probably close."

"Me too." He pointed to a door. "Let's get that open, we can take a shortcut through their reactor."

The two of them had to work together, drawing on the Force to grasp at the center of the heavy door to pull it open.

A whine, and a blaster bolt sliced through the air next to her. The Jedi Knight slipped through the opening, deflecting the blaster fire away from the door immediately. Neria was left to struggle, keeping the door open while trying to shimmy through herself. Moving and utilizing the Force was a difficult balance, but her master gave her the time she needed to figure it out.

The next room was an expansive set of platforms at each of the large reactors required to keep the ship moving and jumping through hyperspace. A trio of enemies were positioned around the room, up high and on the platforms.

Neria had seen Jedi Knights in combat plenty of times, and she knew what she had to do, what Knight Durel would want her to do.

She gathered the Force under her, crouched low, and jumped, using the accrued power to propel her to lengths that no amount of muscle ever could. She landed on the platform right in front of one of the opponents, slicing through his weapon and hand both. As he dropped, crying out in pain, she turned around the reactor to keep her out of the line of fire.

She didn't know if she could jump again, now that both combatants were focused on her. Instead, she settled on another trick she'd seen.

Throwing a lightsaber wasn't quite as easy as jumping, requiring a combination of muscle and using the force to both propel the weapon and make it land. Many preferred to spin theirs in an arc, but Neria merely used it like a spear, sending it rocketing across the room and through the chest of the second pirate.

And by the time she called her weapon back, Knight Durel had already deflected a bolt back into the face of the final opponent. He looked around the dark room, and Neria noticed that there was no exit.

"Looks like I was mistaken," her master said. "This isn't a shortcut."

"Or you're just trying to train me to do these things even though we're in the middle of a combat situation."

"Or that."


	14. Chapter 14

**CT-1552 – Pirate Carrier**

Dreamer kept his head on a swivel as he jogged through the halls with the rest of the team. Tank was leading up front, and the other troopers were doing a good job of providing all-around security. Dreamer had picked up the unenviable task of keeping an eye on the rear.

They'd encountered resistance all along the halls, but the pirates were no match for troopers who were better armed, better armored, and trained since birth. So far, Dreamer had counted twelve pirates that had fallen to the infiltrators.

At least the adrenaline was blocking out the headaches. For as much as he was hoping to get through the ship without further adversity, there were few things that blocked out pain quite as much as the stress of combat.

Luckily for them, Tank was practically the model of a clone captain. Fearless, wielding a pair of blasters, and quick to think on his feet, he was exactly the kind of leader to punch a six-man team through an entire carrier.

It helped that Dreamer had enough combat experience under his belt to be steady in combat, and the other two clones were serving well enough for fresh recruits. Corporal Gebb-Ti remained, of course, a solid combatant under fire. He'd be more uncertain about the team on the middle of a thickly-packed battlefield, but in tight confines and up against untrained pirates, he wasn't quite as worried.

Kurik, on the other hand, had remained a lingering presence at their backs. He could've begrudged the unnerving pilot his unwillingness to get directly into the mix with the rest of them, but at least he was remaining in a position where he wasn't a burden to them.

"You know your way around these kinds of ships, boy." Tank, on the other hand, hadn't been quite so eager to drag around a civilian, and his words had been harsh to make it clear. "Where are we headed next?"

"Usually, the control room wouldn't be too far from the reactor. We just passed it, so...left, I think."

After a dash to the end and a turn to the left, they ended up in a room that was tall, wide, and lined with enough consoles to clearly be somewhere of import. Unfortunately, a group of Gamorrean raiders were defending the room. The pot-bellied aliens were ready, manning a stationary weapon.

Dreamer grabbed Kurik and dragged him out of the way while the rest of the team dove away. One of them, a new recruit from Kamino, took a blaster bolt to the midsection regardless. He rolled to the floor, mercifully ending up behind a strut that concealed him from view.

It wasn't just the Gamorreans, either. A pair of shielded turrets had dropped from the ceiling, swiveling and trying to track the team. The whine of their fire was near to deafening, and the excited squeals of the alien raiders only served to make the din more confusing.

Corporal Geb-Ti already had a grenade palmed, and Dreamer knew what he had to do. He strafed out from behind his wall, firing all along the way while moving fast enough to be difficult to track by the turrets and the Gamorreans both.

The Bothan soldier used the quick diversion to toss his grenade, holding it for a moment before tossing it out.

The grenade detonated before it even hit the ground, a blast that sent Dreamer stumbling toward his the wall opposite the one he'd ran out from. His momentum caused him to crash into the wall clumsily, but he recovered quickly enough to get himself in position before the turrets found them again through the smoke.

Their captain switched targets from the shielded turrets to a vent to their left. He was forced back behind cover moments later as bolts rained down upon his position.

"Dreamer!" Tank's shout was coarse, stressed. "Dreamer, get a grenade in there!"

The clone trooper looked up at the vent dubiously. It would be an incredibly difficult throw, requiring him to get the object ten meters up and in a hole barely larger than he was in diameter. He palmed an explosive, eyes fixed on the vent.

He ran forward through a hail of blaster fire, thankfully remaining undamaged by the time he made it to the entrance of the room, allowing him an angle to throw from. The turrets both fired at him, tracking the sergeant specifically because he was so close.

He was provided some assistance by Tank, who popped out from behind his cover and put some fire down on the turrets. With their shielding, it did little, but they momentarily aimed for him instead of Dreamer.

With enough space and time to actually throw, Dreamer summoned up all the muscle he could muster, and he sent the explosive flying through the air.

The moment he let it go, he knew it wasn't going to get there. While he'd sent it far enough to reach the vent, the throw had gone right. He was forced right back around the strut, unable to do anything else to help the throw.

He turned to watch, hoping against hope that something would happen. Then, miraculously, the grenade appeared to simply hit some powerful airflow in mid-air, suddenly looping to the left and landing with a clatter in the vent.

Dreamer glanced backward to see the blind pilot behind a crate of spice, hand out and directed toward the vent. The young Miralukan withdrew his hand from the air, turned his head to the clone trooper, and gave him a nod.

Then the grenade exploded high above them, destroying the turrets next to the vent and allowing the clone troopers to pass. They stood from their positions, checked for enemies, then the captain turned to the sergeant.

"Nice throw, Dreamer," Tank said. "Don't know how we'd get through otherwise."

"Thank this one." Dreamer pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the pilot. "Seems like the general is rubbing off on him."

"Good, might as well do something useful." He looked at the monitors, then turned to another terminal to his left. "This the control room, boy?"

"It is," he replied. "At least, it looks like it. I'm not completely familiar with ships of this size. I'll try to find the controls."

"Not so fast," Tank said, looking down at their wounded soldier. "Raze, set up at the door. Dreamer, keep an eye on the pilot while he finds us our controls."

CT-1552 joined the young pilot, whose lips were turned downward into an irritated frown. He remained quiet about the escort, however, walking to each of the terminals and giving them a glance before moving on.

"It's strange, what you do," Dreamer said. "The seeing, I mean. I've seen blind Jedi utilize it before, but I've never seen someone without training simply do it."

"I once thought that maybe I was some sort of freak, some abnormality." He powered a screen on, shook his head, and moved on. "Half my old crew seemed to think so, Dilt among them, but they were happy with what I did, so they let it pass without much comment. But I've realized that I'm just...one of many who can do it, only those many tend to work exclusively with the Jedi."

"Are you thinking of going for training?"

"I doubt they'd take me. I'm too old, and I don't exactly fit the skills of a Jedi."

"I don't know. They're always happy to take pilots, what with this war on, and I'm sure you'd learn new skills quite easily. You're still young."

"Older than you, as it happens." Dreamer raised an eyebrow behind his helmet, expression unseen but his sudden turn clear enough. "Sorry, Sergeant. Didn't mean it like that. But you want to talk about strange, you look to be at least fifteen years my senior, but you're only...what? Five years old?"

"Four." Dreamer nodded to Tank. "That's one of the first, I'm willing to wager, he'd be near to eight. We've been told that age is meaningless to us, and I'm halfway to agreeing. Everyone else will live on for three or four times our lifespan."

"Why would you ever be happy about that?"

"I'm not anything about it. I was made for a purpose, and I fulfill that purpose. People like you and Dilt, you're wanderers. You have nothing to tie you down, but at the same time, you have nothing to strive toward. I've met several like you over my travels, and you always end the same way. With a starship of credits, but bitter and cold when you realize that for all your credits, you're empty and lacking in accomplishment."

"Better than practically being a servant."

They were interrupted by a cry, and the pair turned to look at the clone trooper on the ground as Tank attended to him. Raze knelt nearby, weapon aimed down the corridor they'd just emerged from. It was like being back on the battlefield, only with fewer people.

Dreamer turned back to Kurik.

"We all serve something, kid. Whether it's a higher purpose or your own whims and desires, we all have something that drives us to fight against the weary dredge of life. Some people don't fight it, others do, most land somewhere in the middle. But either way, I see purpose in my life. What about you?"

"I..." Kurik paused at the controls of a terminal, and Dreamer could easily tell that he wasn't looking at anything in particular. "You're surprisingly philosophical for a clone."

"Yes, well, I suppose I'm an outlier. I was often thought to have remained in the vats for too long."

"It's refreshing," the young man assured him, moving to another terminal and powering it on. "Most of your types are all business, all the time."

"Dreamer!" Tank shouted from his place at Fury's side. "Stop bothering the kid, cut the chit-chat!"

"See what I mean?"

"You got it, Captain." Dreamer clapped a hand on the pilot's shoulder. "Come on, we still have a ship to take over."

Fury was slow to get up, but the wounded clone still managed to stumble up to his feet, grab his weapon, and give the team a steadying and reassuring nod. A small ring of blood soaked into the bandages, but it was slow enough that he would likely be fine until they made it back to their ship.

This time, Kurik remained at the terminal, and eventually, he turned to the captain. "This is the one we're looking for!" he yelled. "Door controls, everything you need!"

"Let me on," Tank said, moving the kid aside and settling onto the terminal. "Hm, different from Separatist systems, but if I just...there we go."

Dreamer heard a series of thuds all over the ship, and once they finished, he looked down at the captain.

"We ready to move, sir?"

Tank didn't seem to hear him, pressing a few buttons and then shaking his head. "Dammit," he said. "Dammit, I was afraid this would happen."

"What happened, sir?"

"I locked down the doors on the outside, alright, but the doors also locked. Without some kind of passcode or way to hack through it, we're not going anywhere on our ship."

"We could always have General Durel or Commander Halai cut us out of here."

"Cut through a door with space on the other side?" Dreamer didn't answer. "Yeah, not an option."

"Looks like we'll have to figure something else out," Kurik said. "Is General Durel available, right now"

"This is no good," Tank muttered before turning to the transmitter on his arm. "This is bad, General. Shutting down the hatches has locked everything down, and I can't crack through it. What do we do?"

"We're almost at the bridge," he said. Dreamer could clearly hear blaster fire and the hum of a lightsaber on the other end. "We'll take the entire ship to the Hutts. If nothing else, they may be happy we provided them with some scrap. Plot a course from your position, you should be able to override the navigational computer. Then join us for the final push to the bridge."

"Yes, General."


	15. Chapter 15

**Kurik Otela – Pirate Carrier**

The clones had performed far better than Kurik would've suspected. Jedi were indomitable warriors to his eyes, their victory practically assured no matter how many pirates or soldiers they faced down. The Republic's mass-produced soldiers, on the other hand, were a people that could easily be shot or killed with stray shrapnel.

Yet the clones had somehow managed to push through a far greater number of pirates and automated defenses, earning some respect in Kurik's eyes. Even further, they'd kept him protected the whole way.

The corridors of the vessel were difficult for him to find the outline of, at the speed they moved. It was all a swarm of grey smoke, occasionally interrupted by the darker forms of the clones. He was hardly even using his sight to navigate anymore, simply following their footfalls as they ran.

The Miralukan pilot would estimate that they were closing on the bridge, if the starcruiser conformed to conventional design. The clones had already forced the vehicle into hyperspace and to Tatooine, now it was just a case of taking the navigation console over.

Kurik's lungs burned with effort, and all the running was starting to make his legs burn. He wanted nothing more than to ask them to stop, but he knew that Tank would just favor him with a sigh and give his fellow clones a knowing glance.

Not that he could fully begrudge them. They were soldiers, running endlessly was something expected of them even with all their armor. He was just a pilot, more versed in shooting and lounging around a ship than doing laps on it.

The sounds of battle were clear ahead of them, and the clones stacked up at the door in preparation. Kurik loomed right behind Dreamer, the most bearable clone of the group.

"We all ready?" The smuggler couldn't' help but note that Tank was looking directly at him when he asked the question. When he didn't get a response, he nodded. "Okay."

The wide hallway ahead was clearly the entrance to the bridge, and the two Jedi they were ferrying were holding fast, deflecting fire from a group of Weequay pirates crouched in the corridor ahead of them.

Kurik found his eyes drawn once again to Neria, to the strange look of her. Not shining with blue like her master but simply slowly pulsating with it like the beat of a heart. Yet that vein of red was still there, yet to dissipate from the teaching.

He wondered that the rest of the Jedi didn't seem capable of seeing it. Perhaps it required someone of sight, like him, to sense something buried so deeply.

General Durel didn't even look at the team, swinging and knocking a blaster bolt back toward a pipe that shrouded the pirates in steam.  
"Quickly, now!" he shouted. "Lay down fire."

Kurik wasn't sure what he expected the clones to hit, but they did so anyways, filling the gap with enough blaster fire that the pilot was sure anything inside must've been vaporized. It came as quite a shock when something small and round came flying out of the entryway.

"No!"

Neria thrust a hand out, knocking the grenade backward and into the gap again. With a blast that shook the floor, the steam-filled entrance was a sudden maw of fire and debris, quickly quelling under the moisture.

Unfortunately, whatever else the grenade had hit along the corridor set off alerts that weren't quite the same as the intruder alarms they'd been hearing all through their infiltration. Kurik was unfortunately all too familiar with the sound, having heard it more than once while repairing their vessel on the ground.

"What is that?" General Durel asked.

"That...would be the environmental systems," Kurik said. "We better wrap this up fast and find a way off this ship, or we're gonna be sucking down the void."

"How long do we have to Tatooine?"

"It...shouldn't be too much longer."

"Then maybe we'll just borrow their atmosphere."

"You mean..."

"I do."

"This ship's not equipped to set down, Master Jedi."

"I'd argue that with as much metal is between us and the ground, it's well-equipped to set down. As long as we have a pilot we can trust, I'm comfortable putting this big ship right down in front of Jabba's Palace."

"If you say so, Master Jedi."

"Tell our captain to brace himself, this will be a rough landing."

Kurik did just that, lifting the communicator on his forearm to his lips. "Dilt," he said. "Dilt, come in."

"I'm here, kid, calm down."

"Dilt, we're gonna be landing this thing in the desert. You should probably...you know...prepare for that."

"Oh, good. Exactly what our girl needs, crash landing inside another ship."

"Just brace, Dilt. It's not like we haven't done...something like this...before."

"I'll be ready."

Kurik gave the Jedi Knight a nod, and he moved without further ado, his padawan following in his steps and the rest of them rushing to keep pace. The two Jedi opened the door with merely a pull from afar, and they were through to the bridge.

There were still nearly a dozen pirates left, and the captain himself stood tall at the center.

The sight of the man's armor gave Kurik pause. A Mandalorian, something he hadn't thought to see on a pirate ship. He'd thought Mandalore would be too busy with its civil war for Death Watch to send one of their troops out.

But then, what exactly would a Death Watch soldier be doing on a pirate ship?

"You've made quite a mess of things, Jedi," he said, his voice modulated and growling. "I don't know where you're taking us, but I can't wait to space your bodies when we get there."

No more was said, the Mandalorian utilizing a pair of pistols to fire out at the Jedi. They deflected it away, and the clones moved around them, trying to mop up the crew.

Kurik followed the Bothan soldier, the sneaky little alien moving to a console and peeking around. A trio of crewmembers were aiming up at the clones form the floor below.

He leaned over the alien, who didn't even acknowledge his presence as they fired. From the side, they were able to mow down the three crewmembers before two could react. The third threw himself behind a terminal, but Kurik reached out and—with the same trick with which he'd guided the grenade—nudged the pirate back out into open space.

The Bothan took care of him, then they were on to the Mandalorian.

The Death Watch operative was keeping Padawan Halai busy, standing at surprisingly close range to the deadly teenage Jedi. He'd holstered one of the pistols somewhere during the brief engagement, a sword in his free hand.

As Kurik tried to figure out exactly what he was going to do to a Mandalorian that a Jedi couldn't, she lashed out at him with the lightsaber. The warrior met the weapon with his own blade, deflecting it and trying to angle the blaster at her chest before she used her free hand to push his away.

That gave Kurik an idea. The pilot reached out, covered by Gebb-Ti, who fired at a pirate nearby.

When Neria swung down, the Mandalorian moved to block. Kurik nudged his arm out of the way, leaving him wide open for for her to cut right through.

The Madalorian cried out in pain, stumbling backward with everything below the elbow missing. Kurik raised a hand up to shoot him, only for something small and metal to drop from the man's hip.

With a hiss audible even over the sounds of fighting, smoke began to fill the room.

Padawan Halai and Knight Durel both worked to quickly clear it from the bridge, but by the time they had, the Mandalorian and two pirates who'd managed to survive the brief fight had fled the room.

"Should we go after them?" Kurik asked.

"No," General Durel said. "Tank, you and yours keep security at the door and be ready to hold on to something. Gebb-Ti, find a transmitter and prepare to get in touch with Jabba's henchmen—he should know we're expected."

"Not expected in this," the Bothan said.

"Kurik, you're on the controls. Hurry, we don't have a lot of time."

He wasn't wrong. Already, the ship was barreling toward the sandy planet, a crash landing that would kill them all if Kurik didn't manage to steady them.

"Right, I'm on it."

As the ship pushed into the atmosphere, the shielding up front began to rattle. The pressure was intense without any sort of gradual decline to ease it. A small crack appeared over the shielding, growing only larger as they continued to furiously descend toward a small set of shimmering circular buildings in the distance.

"Padawan," Knight Durel said, eyeing the cracks in the shielding. "I need you to help me with this. Keep glass from flying through here and cutting us to shreds."

"Yes, Master."

Kurik could feel the power pushing past him as he quickly pressed a series of small buttons. He could see a soft glowing blue press against the shielding, catching any glass that fell away from the cracks and sparing those on the bridge the damage they would've done.

That left Kurik able to focus on his sole job, trying to even the ship out as best he could.

But it was no easy task. They were on a very large ship that had practically dived into the atmosphere, leaving him little room between sky and the surface.

He still did the best he could, engaging the engines in short bursts while keeping the nose of the vessel up. Halfway down, he figured them for as good as they were going to get and set the engines for the bare minimum while still operating.

It would be a hard landing, regardless. Some vessels came with emergency flaps or parachutes for just this kind of situation. The old starcruiser they were riding nosefirst toward the ground did not. Kurik engaged some boosters at the front of the ship last, hoping to pull the nose up just a little bit more before they landed.

His job as close to done as it could get, he turned to Knight Durel. He and his padawan were still holding against the glass, standing strong in the middle of the bridge. He didn't know what they thought they were doing; Jedi or no, they would be flung into the shielding upon impact just like anyone else.

"I've done all I can, but we're going to hit hard," Kurik said. "That chamber back there might be our best option to ride it out."

"Agreed," Knight Durel said. "Everyone get behind the door."

Thankfully, the clones were already close enough to the door that they were able to just slip through into the next room without bunching up at the entrance. Kurik fled past Durel and Padawan Halai, and the Jedi were last in the room.

The padawan held the door behind them closed whilst bracing herself against it, and the knight did the same with the door to the bridge. The clones, Gebb-Ti, and Kurik all found something to cling to and brace against.

Nobody said anything but for the small alien corporal across from him.

"This is Corporal Gebb-Ti, Republic Diplomatic Envoy," the Bothan said to somebody on the other side of the line. "I'm here with the Jedi you requested. Apologies for what's going to be a very rough entrance, but we were losing atmosphere, so we needed to land."

Some response that Kurik was unable to hear, then a thundering crash, a jolt, and Kurik's grip on the pipe overhead failed. He stumbled backward, there was anolther hit, and he slammed into the door that the padawan was holding closed.

Everything went fuzzy, his 'gaze' darkening and his thoughts becoming slippery and difficult.

Then things stopped moving, he felt a warmth that was strange and alien to him. The Force, applied from without. He was momentarily lost, only clawing back to lucidity when a pulsing blue figure appeared over him.

"Kurik." It was Padawan Halai, concern thick in her voice. "Kurik, are you still with us?"

"I...Yeah," he slowly managed to ease himself off the floor, assisted by the Jedi Padawan. "Yeah, I think I'm alright."

"We'll get you some medical attention, just to be sure," Knight Durel said from the other side of the small corridor. "Dreamer, see to him once we're off the ship."

"Yes, General."

The clones and Corporal Gebb-Ti seemed to be in good enough condition. Taking stock of themselves and their equipment.

Then their Jedi Knight threw the door open, revealing them to a bridge that was practically destroyed, a mess of glass, twisted metal, and plastic. The nose had been buried within a dune, spilling sand into the bridge.

General Durel was unflinching as he led their small party beyond the nose, where a skiff was already waiting. A full score of Jabba's thugs had their weapon up at the ship, and the Jedi seemed none too concerned by their hostility.

"Greetings, gentlemen, I'm Jedi Knight Durel," he said, a cheery smile stretching onto his face. "We're a little later than we meant to be, in a ship a little larger than we flew out on, but here we are. And we even brought you a gift."

As they looked up at the crashed starcruiser whose innards they could strip for scrap, packed to the brim with pirates whose bodies could be looted for gear, they realized that they truly had been delivered a marvelous present.

They lowered their weapons, and Kurik released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.


	16. Chapter 16

**Padawan Halai – Jabba's Palace**

She was still shaken from the last fight, even if she wasn't showing it. Once the adrenaline had faded, once they were in a place relatively peaceful, her mind began to go back to the fight on the ship, to the pirates she'd killed and the Mandalorian she'd just mutilated.

It was her first time really being able to think. Everything had been a rush since her surprise victory on Geonosis, no time to think or sit down and contemplate. Even at the Jedi Temple, it'd been back to the task of restocking supplies, sitting through a briefing, and rushed training.

Now Jabba was making them wait in his anarchic dwelling, with Durel assuring them that he was just trying to make them sweat. He called it a rather common practice when one wanted something, he just couldn't imagine what it was.

They'd been offered drinks, and she'd been rather irritated when a Twi'lek dancer had shimmied over to their table in the outer chamber and offered to entertain Dilt, but they remained otherwise unbothered by the horde of unsavory types littering the palace.

Now she just had time to herself in her own corner of their little 'room', merely an area of the guest area that had been partially sectioned off from the rest of the palace.

Their faces kept flitting through her mind, the Mandalorian clutching at the missing stump of his forearm surfaced again and again. It was hard for her to process the death, the meditation only serving to worsen it as she was shut out from anything else and left only to her thoughts.

Neria was interrupted from her meditations as her teacher walked into the small area sequestered from the main area by furniture. The knight cut quite an intimidating figure in the darkness of the palace, his face harshly contrasted by shadows, but she supposed they all looked much the same in the poor lighting.

"I can sense your disquiet, Padawan," Knight Durel said quietly, sitting down across from her. "What troubles you?"

"Sorry, Master," she said. "I just...I've been thinking about the people on the starcruiser that I...well..."

"I see." He leaned back, languidly stretching in his seat. "It's easier when it's droids, isn't it?"

"Yes, they're just programming, metal shells."

"And yet, they have some measure of sentience as well, wouldn't you agree?"

Indeed, he had a point. She'd often overheard droids speaking to each other. Even the thickest of the bunch, the standard battle droids, had personality and cognitive functions that weren't that different from anyone else.

"I...I suppose."

"It's a shame, that we subject teenagers to this war," he said, shaking his head. "At one time, you wouldn't have even be in a situation to see a real fight until you were at least a decade older."

"I can handle myself, Master, you've seen that."

"Of course I have. But I speak not of your responsibility, but ours. The Jedi are supposed to be peacemakers, problem-solvers. We were to protect our youth, not subject them to horrors." His eyes almost seemed to go unfocused, his voice airy. "Can you imagine what it must've been like in the days of old? When the Jedi worked more toward the advancement of knowledge and societal stability than war?"

"The other Jedi speak of you as one of the best small-unit commanders in history, but you seem rather enchanted by the idea of a peaceful galaxy."

"And why not?" he asked, eyes coming down to hers. "I'm a good commander—maybe even a great one. That doesn't mean I can't see a bigger picture. That doesn't mean I don't wish to see a galaxy without death. How many species have we seen brought to the brink of extermination? How many population centers have been wiped clean in all this?"

"All the more reason to end this as quickly as possible."

"True." He looked back down at his untouched drink. "It'll be easier for you to think that those pirates were just evil personified that needed to be killed. When you have an enemy that wants to kill you, waffling and wondering what sad events led them to their circumstance can end in the death of you and those alongside you." His gaze panned to Tank and the clones in the corner. "They've had to learn that lesson and come to terms with it in their own ways. You could, too."

Padawan Halai was not an orthodox Jedi, she knew that much, but she had learned enough from her teachings to find his suggestion wildly out of step with their teachings.

"But that's a strange way for a peacekeeper to think."

"Yes it is." He smiled up at her. "The life of a soldier is a very difficult one, Neria, one that often necessitates a black-and-white thinking in order to survive. Many Jedi have also begun to turn in that direction. The struggle you're feeling right now, it's good, I'd worry were you not having difficulty with the lives you've taken. I'm here to teach you the ways of the Force, but how you wish to develop as a person is your business. My suggestion? Don't take the easy path. Our soldiers are a gallant and admirable bunch, but the Jedi aren't supposed to be soldiers."

"Then how do I come to terms with what I've done?"

"You tell yourself it's a necessity, that sometimes the galaxy forces you into confrontations that you're never going to come out of peacefully. Killing is the easy way out, and sometimes you won't have another option. But we are peacekeepers, are we not? If you have the opportunity to find an other way, take it."

Neria wasn't completely satisfied with the answer, though as he'd hinted, that was something of the point. She still didn't know how to truly digest the lives she'd taken, but at least he'd given her some path to follow.

The padawan looked at the clone troopers in the corner, trying their best to avoid the attention of the thugs and killers around them. She found them courageous, strong, and excellent comrades, but theirs was a life that was difficult and leaving little room for nuance.

He was right. She didn't want to live a life that saw her taking lives day in and day out. She wanted something that didn't leave her struggling to square herself against her actions, even if she didn't know what that was.

"I suppose you're right," Neria muttered. Her eyes turned to Dreamer. "Tell me, when this war's over, what do you think will happen to them?"

"The clones?" She nodded. "Perhaps they will linger in the army, perhaps they'll be allowed to pursue their own lives, perhaps some mix of the two. I doubt anyone's asked them, but I bet that they've been thinking about it."

"Because you've been thinking about it too?"

A small smile at the corner of his lips. "I wonder," he said, "will you ever cease to surprise me?"

"If I did, then I'd be a poor padawan."

"True." He shrugged. "Everyone thinks about what they'll do after the war. You must have some thoughts of your own, yes?"

"I just want to become a knight," she replied. "Everything else in the galaxy can go by."

"I suppose that's fair." He looked uptoward the door. "Ah, here comes our greeter."

Neria didn't see anybody, but the door soon slid open, a dark-plated droid staggering out in ungainly fashion to approach their small group. The clones were already packing up the deck of cards that they were playing Pazaak with, while Dilt and Corporal Gebb-Ti were tossing down the last of their drinks, slamming the glasses to the table and giving each other a nod.

"The Great Jabba requests your presence, Master Jedi," the droid said. "Please, you and yours come with me."

They all joined the droid, who turned and tottered back into one of the chambers.

Some of the people around the room were leering at Neria in a manner she found highly inappropriate, her hand drifting down to her lightsaber and gripping even harder.

"Easy." The padawan turned to see Dilt watching, the Devaronian clearly amused. "You're a guest here. They may be a pack of lecherous thugs, but they know better than to harass someone under Jabba's protection."

She let go of the lightsaber, but she didn't stop watching them. Dilt could say all he wanted about what was in their best interests, yet it did little to ease the discomfort coursing through her.

They were led into the main chamber of the palace, where the bloated Hutt sat upon a dais with a small contingent of outlaws and assistants gathered around. Most notable was a protocol droid next to him, shining silver even in the darkness of the chamber.

Neria uneasily stayed in the rear with the clones, noting that they were standing on some kind of grate that led downward. The soldiers didn't seem to miss it either, Tank nudging Dreamer and nodding to the floor.

"Illustrious and Incredible Jabba," their escort said. "Your guests, as ordered."

"Master Jabba." Knight Durel's voice was strong, authoritative, clearly trying to communicate that they would not be bullied. "We were told that you have information regarding potential threats to the Republic. We have been charged with investigating these threats, so what have you discovered?"

The overgrown slug spoke in a voice that was booming, deep, and completely unintelligible to Neria's ears. Master Durel clearly couldn't understand either, from the way he looked to the protocol droid at the Hutt's side.

"The Glorious Jabba wishes to first speak with you concerning gas mining industries on—"

"I'm afraid I'm not a politician nor a businessman," the Jedi replied. "If you want to make deals with the Republic, those would be the appropriate channels to go through."

"Yet you are diplomats, yes?" the droid asked after Jabba spoke. "Are you not authorized to make some concessions or deals on behalf of the Republic?"

"Not all Jedi are given a diplomatic posting, Master Jabba," Durel replied. "I am an investigator or commander whenever I'm sent out from the temple, and that is the function I fulfill. I have no knowledge of Republic industrial holdings or infrastructure, you'll have to send them through normal diplomatic channels."

Jabba stared at them for a silent spell that stretched uncomfortably long. The clones behind her shifted, the sliding of their armor clearly audible, and Neria's hand lingered on her hip, close to her lightsaber.

All around them, the bounty hunters, mercenaries, thieves, and smugglers that comprised the crew of Jabba's palace seemed to tense up. She would like to trust that Jabba wouldn't threaten the deal he had with the Republic, whatever terms those included, but it wasn't as if the Hutts were some upstanding and honorable people.

Finally, he spoke again, and everyone seemed to ease. Neria did the same, keeping her hand where it was but at least slouching back into a more comfortable stance.

"The Mighty Jabba understands," the protocol droid said. "The kidnappings on Shili have been a source of concern for our great leader. He has long been a friend to the Jedi, has a particular distaste for the abduction of children, and finding that his smugglers were complicit in some of these crimes is no small worry to him."

"It would've required some professionals to pull off," Neria said in agreement.

"There needs to be a reprisal, and he seeks to solve two problems at once," the droid translated. "His smugglers spoke of a small outpost on Hypori, where they delivered the children."

"Hypori." Durel sucked in a breath through his teeth. "That's...not good."

Neria had heard of the place, of course, most of them had. Many Jedi had died there, ambushed by General Grievous and his droids when investigating an outpost.

"It shouldn't be a problem," Dilt said, to their surprise. When the Jedi turned to him, he shrugged, eyes glinting in amusement. "You hired a smuggler. Getting into worlds I'm not supposed to is my specialty."

"Thank you, Master Jabba," Knight Durel said, inclining his head to the crime lord. "The Republic thanks you as well. We'll investigate, and any information that can assist your industrial endeavors will be sent back."

The giant alien looked quite pleased by that suggestion, the crease of his mouth turning upward and his eyes shining in delight. He spoke again as the music started back up behind them, indicating they were about to be dismissed.

"The Mighty Jabba thanks you for your kindness," the protocol droid said. "He has many matters he must attend to, now. Please linger by the hangar as your vessel is repaired, and you will be sen out."

"Thank you, Master Jabba," Durel said, inclining his head.

They departed from the room, and Durel looked mighty pleased by the direction the conversation had taken. As they traveled to the hangar, little out of the ordinary caught her eye, then she paused when she noticed something unusual in the corner of their destination.

Neria saw Kurik speaking quietly with a pale Twi'lek in the corner, his red eyes intimidating and expressing some suspicion as he talked to the pilot. Everyone else had already meandered to some other distal portion of the palace, leaving her alone to roam.

"Kurik!" Both of them turned to Neria, who tapped a hand pointedly against the hilt of her lightsaber. "Need any help?"

"No, we're fine over here," the young man said. "We were just speaking about the starcruiser. Jabba's apparently quite pleased that we brought him such a gift, he just didn't want to speak up before he could wiggle a deal out of us."

He was lying, that much Neria could easily tell. Perhaps he was a good pilot, but his condition had left him with little mastery over his facial expressions, and the crease of his forehead and turn of his lips told her enough.

The padawan didn't push, though. She'd keep an eye on him, but whatever discussion they were having wouldn't concern her as long as it didn't threaten their mission.

So instead, she stalked off to a corner of the hangar and waited, prepared to meditate in the noisy chamber.

And this time, she hoped she didn't see that Mandalorian again.

 **I may not have mentioned it, but I have three phases planned for this story: Clone Wars, Pre-Rebellion, Rebellion. I've got this planned up to chapter 32, and it looks like it'll wrap up the Clone Wars portion around 40, so that should give you some idea of how long this is gonna go. Maybe I'll try to write two chapters a week, it shouldn't be that hard.**

 **And as always, any comments or critiques are appreciated.**


	17. Chapter 17

**CT-1552 – Shili**

It was strange to Dreamer, seeing a planet full of Togruta. Perhaps it was simply that he'd grown so acclimated to only ever seeing them amongst the rank of the Jedi, the rest preferring to remain home but for the rare wanderer.

Yet nobody else had been put off by it, instead busying themselves with an investigation of mysterious craft that kept showing up to steal their children. They'd listened to the heartbroken parents of six different children before General Durel and Commander Halai had disappeared into a cave to meditate.

Two hours later, they'd come out, saying that between discussion and reaching out with the Force, they'd found the next strongest child. They'd waited for sixteen hours, then moved to stakeout a tiny village on the edge of a vibrant and multi-colored forest.

Padawan Halai had spent much of the last hour dueling with General Durel in an impressive showing. Then she'd stepped away to rest, and the Jedi Knight left to meditate.

Dreamer had spent most that time playing cards in the corner of their small clearing with the rest of the clones, getting a loss handed to him with each round by Tank. The infuriatingly perfect commander seemed to conquer everything he dabbled in, and it was starting to irritate Dreamer.

"You might be the worse Pazaak player I've ever seen," their captain said when the sergeant once again went out first. "What's the longest you've made it, two rounds?"

"Good thing we don't have credits to spend, Dreamer, or you'd be begging for food in the mess hall come tomorrow."

"Don't think we're going to be in the mess hall tomorrow," Dreamer answered.

"No, more than likely not." Tank looked down, dealt some cards to the players still in, then looked up at the sergeant. "Tell me, honestly, what do you think the chances are against a school of Sith?"

"They aren't real Sith, remember," Dreamer said. "We've got General Durel here, and Padawan is no easy fight. And don't underestimate the Bothan, either. Or rather, let the enemy underestimate him."

"What do you mean?"

"You know that assassin I killed, sir?" He nodded. "That little guy over there practically went forgotten in the fight. The Force user saw a heavily-armed clone ready to do battle, and that took all his attention. He taunted me, keeping an explosive in midair, because he forgot that there was someone small and 'insignificant' right there."

"Hm, good point." Tank looked at the alien corporal, who was talking to their pilot. "He seems private, though. Has barely said a word to me outside of combat."

"Hm, he talks to me on occasion." Dreamer grinned, scratching at the hair on his jaw. "Maybe I'm finally better that you at something, Captain."

"Well, we can't have that." Tank turned and raised his voice. "Corporal!" The Bothan glanced over to see who was calling him. "Hey, do you want to play Pazaak!? You can embarrass Dreamer, if you want!"

"I don't play cards."

"Well, at least come over here and share some war stories!"

"I have none to share."

"You just came from a battlefield, and you have no war stories?!"

"No."

The flat delivery of each answer indicated well enough that the Bothan wasn't interested in intermingling with the clones—Dreamer the notable exception. His brown gaze met Tank's not in challenge, but in bored ambivalence.

Then he looked back to Kurik, talking quietly with the Miralukan.

"Hm, I think he doesn't like me."

"Could be that you yelled at him from across the clearing, sir." Dreamer looked to the entrance of the smaller clearing adjacent to theirs. "Hm, I wonder what our commander is up to."

"Why don't you go find out?" Tank asked, reshuffling the cards. "You're no use to anyone here."

Dreamer didn't respond, aware that the captain was just trying to encourage a friendly camaraderie that fell flat under the weight of his effortless perfection. Instead, he just nodded and stood, turning to the other clearing and moving into the treeline.

He tried to be quiet as he approached, her cross-legged posture on the ground indicating that she was meditating, an activity he had no desire to disturb. He became concerned, however, when he noticed an array of pieces scattered before her, a crystal in the middle of it all. It took him a moment to realize what he was looking at, and he was unable to hold his worry in.

"Why did you break your lightsaber, Commander?" Dreamer asked, pushing through the final fern and stepping into the clearing..

"It's not broken." Neria gestured to her hip, and he looked down to find it still strapped to her belt. "No, this is Master Kullenan's old crystal, attuned to me. I managed to buy some parts at Jabba's palace while we were waiting, and I...um...acquired a few things I needed from our ship."

"Ah, I see."

"You need to stop calling me that, you know."

"Ma'am?"

"Commander." She didn't look up at him, but he could feel her attention on him regardless. "I'm not even a knight yet, not even an adult. I'm hardly skilled enough to be compared to an experienced military officer. You may as well call me 'Queen of the Galaxy' for as fitting as it sounds."

Dreamer was flummoxed by the strange request. In both training and simply his own mind, it sounded more than appropriate to refer to the powerful beings by a title commanding respect. Yet he supposed he could understand her discomfort. After all, he knew what it was like to be fitted with a name that seemed so inappropriate.

So he opted for some friendly rapport, instead.

"I hate to be the one to break this to you, Padawan Halai, but I suspect you may not have the bearing for royalty."

That did it. The padawan's eyes opened, and a laugh tore from her lips. She held a hand out to the clone, as if to halt him.

"Stop," she said. "Stop, I need to actually get something done over here." Her sapphire eyes turned to him. "Just...Just wait there, for a second. This shouldn't take too long."

He'd never seen what she was about to do, and curiosity alone kept him stuck to his spot. She lowered her eyes back to her task, closed them again, and lifted her hands from where they lay in her lap.

Over a dozen pieces, all told, and they seemed to shake and tremble in the slightest as the padawan suspended them in air. She still held them fast, however, and a glowing crystal moved to the center as the rest of the pieces suddenly lined up to either side of it.

They came together one by one, and they seemed to steady the fewer pieces there were. Finally, two sides remained, a skeletal casing assembled between them and over the crystal. Then it all came together, forming into one solid handle.

"Not bad," Dreamer said, not sure what else he could say. "Come on, let's see it, Padawan."

The teenager smiled up at Dreamer, took to her feet, then pulled her other weapon out with her free hand. She took a stance, almost certainly exaggerated for Dreamer's benefit.

Two blue lightsabers shone through the night, the one in the hand out front slightly shorter than the other. She went through the movements with both, surprisingly smooth considering the difficulty inherent with wielding two weapons.

"Feels stable," she said. "Feels right."

"You can actually use two?"

"Not perfectly, but it wouldn't be my first time." With a _hiss_ , the lightsabers deactivated. "On Geonosis, I wielded two. A modified Soresu stance, I used the one in my off-hand for blocking or deflecting while I attacked with the other."

"Surprised nobody's thought of that before."

"If anyone ever asks, it took me days of meditating and reading ancient texts to figure out, perfected after years of practice."

"And the truth, Padawan?"

"It was sloppy, and I was...panicking."

His laugh echoed around the camp, drawing a scorning look from Tank and a sheepish smile from the Twi'lek padawan.

"Sorry," he said. "That's just like you."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It's meant as one, don't worry. I guess I'm just more surprised than anything that you prefer defense to attack."

"Prefer defense? Do I not attack with these? Have I been under the impression these were weapons instead of living room decorations to be seated on the mantle?"

"It's not like that, Padawan Halai. Just...the few Jedi I've seen with two always use both to attack. Your way just seems more...cautious than I would expect out of you."

"I like them to make a move first." She shrugged. "Easier to see what I'm dealing with, that way."

"Well, I—"

A sharp stab of pain at his temple, and he cried out, hand going to the nagging pain that continued to plague him. No longer was it a simple throb, but it had suddenly twisted within his skull, as if provoked.

"What's wrong?!" Neria's cry was distant, almost muted through the thick pain that had settled onto his mind. "Master Durel! Quick!"

Everything was hazy, the rush of sound approaching echoing, like it was coming from everywhere. All he could feel was the agony, which continued to surge through his head and radiate all down his spine, ending in his forearms and thighs.

Suddenly, the pain eased, a warmth emanating from the source and spreading outward. After some time, his eyes fluttered open, and he found Jedi Knight Durel kneeling in front of him, hand covering his temple. There was clear concern in the Zabrak's eyes and in the gazes of his fellow clones, who stood over the Jedi's shoulder. Neria was next to him, mouth creased into a worried line. Even Kurik managed to look concerned, coming over with Corporal Gebb-Ti.

"Are you okay, my friend?" Durel's voice was quiet, soothing.

"Sorry for the concern, General. I think I'm still just shaken up after that grenade on Bothawui. Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"You don't seem like you'll be fine."

"I'm gonna want you to report to medical when we get back to Coruscant, Dreamer," Tank said. "I'm serious, Sergeant, we can't have you collapsing in the field like this."

"I'm alright, Captain, really."

"No, you're not." His russet eyes hardened. "You're going to medical when we get back, understood?"

Dreamer knew the difference between a suggestion between friends and an order from a superior. "Yes sir," he said. "The moment we step on Coruscant."

"Good, we..."

He went silent as a small whine filled the air, a piercing sound that only served to make the remnants of the throbbing pain briefly flare back to life. Yet they all knew what it was. The sound of engines, starship engines specifically.

They looked up to see a sleek, grey vessel of strange make slip from the clouds, coming in low over the forest and eventually turning toward the village, a place that was far too rustic to attract normal visitors with a ship so clearly expensive.

"There they are," Tank muttered, looking at the ship. "Just in time. Should we intercept, General?"

"No," Durel answered. "They won't harm the children, we know that, and if we attack now, we risk destroying our only lead." He activated the transmitter on his arm. "Captain, are you there?"

"I'm here," Dilt answered, the smuggler ornery as ever. "Are our targets here?"

"They are. Coming in from..."

As he gave the coordinates, Dreamer watched the vessel descend into the city. He wanted nothing more than to rush in there, save the child from the clutches of the Sith, and call it a victory, but he knew why they had to wait.

"Yeah, I see 'em," Dilt said. "I'll track them out and plot their trajectory when they jump out. Then I'll swing down and pick you up."

"Very good." His eyes turned to the group, and his gaze noticeably lingered on Dreamer. "Are we all ready?"

"We are, General," Dreamer replied.

But judging from the ache of his head and the twisting of his stomach, he wasn't feeling ready.

 **Thanks to the people reviewing, favoriting the story, and all of that. It always helps**

 **I think I should be able to put out two chapters a week, this certainly was easier than I thought it would be. So there you go, that's what I'm gonna try to do, now. One Sunday, one Wednesday, if all goes to plan.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Kurik Otela –** ** _Jack of Trades_**

The pilot would've felt a lot better about their chances if they had a full crew. Or a few more ships. Or an entire army of clones. Or more Jedi.

Literally anybody else would be welcome in their assault against what would assuredly be some kind of school for dark side Force-users. He had faith in General Durel and Padawan Halai, but they were only two people.

And, of course, there was his task from Jabba.

He was anxious about taking a job under Dilt's nose, but the Twi'lek had been right. He needed to start establishing himself independent of the captain if he wanted to get anywhere in the galaxy. Working in with Jabba would be a good way, but Kurik intended to be careful around the Hutt.

Luckily, all he had to do was find a datapad that had apparently been swiped from one of the crime lord's smugglers. Not a difficult task, and there was little moral ambiguity involved.

"I can't believe we're going to do this alone," Kurik muttered.

"Alone?" The Jedi Knight raised his eyebrow and looked back to the blue and white streams of light flashing past their shielding. "Hm."

"So how are we playing this?" Dilt asked. "What's the division of labor gonna look like?"

"We'll see when we get there, Captain Hekteros."

"Aren't you Jedi supposed to be all about planning this kind of thing?" the starship captain asked, looking around. "Aren't you supposed to have any kind of clue about what we're getting into?"

"I am not omnipotent. We will see what's there when we get there. For now, you and your pilot just need to concentrate on getting us to the fight."

"Speaking of which," Kurik said, noting a small timer emblazoned red and counting down, "get ready, because here we go."

When Kurik dropped out of hyperspace, he paused at the scene before him.

The Separatists were there in force, a full fleet of a half-dozen starcruisers and nearly a hundred smaller ships filling the void between them and the station that was their destination. The only thing missing from the fleet was one of their half-circle battleships so typically seen in blockades.

The station itself looked strange, more like a floating fortress than an actual station. High walls, only a few landing pads, and completing the look were a couple of spires in the rear, one of which would likely contain the control room for the whole installation.

But the Separatists weren't alone.

Mixed in between them were elements of a Republic fleet; starcruisers, fighters, and bombers were cutting across the enemy ships with a ferocity far more pronounced than most battles.

"This is Admiral Katen," a stiff, haughty voice reported over his speaker. "General Durel, is that you?"

"Yes it is, Admiral. Clear us a path as best you can. We've got a good pilot, but he'll require a little assistance to punch us through."

"Understood, General."

The battle noticeably shifted, the Republic ships all distancing themselves from the Separatists. The enemy gave chase, only to find that the vessels weren't retreating so much as moving back into pockets of resistance.

It had the intended effect, stretching out the enemy force and making it easier for their ship to pass through.

Not that it was perfect. There were still plenty of ships between them and the strange station.

"Alright, kid," Dilt said. "Let's really show our passengers what you can do."

Through the chaos of lasers and torpedoes, Kurik managed to guide their vessel. The swirling gray ahead was interrupted by colliding blasts of energy, solid forms making themselves known far ahead of time and allowing him to twist around them with an ease.

At one time, his ability to avoid the enemy had seemed uncanny, some unnatural skill that left everyone but Dilt nervous around him. Now he knew why, that the Force wasn't just affecting his vision.

"How're we going to get into that station?" Neria asked as Kurik dove low under a Separatist starcruiser and avoided the fire from its turrets.

"They'll have it shielded," Durel told them. "Force-users still need oxygen, they'll have an atmosphere in there. All we have to do is punch through the shield. Do we have anything on the ship that'll help?"

"We do, as it happens," the captain answered as they swerved around a small dogfight. "Something unique, as it happens."

"What do you mean?" Durel asked.

"Pretty simple, really. You may notice that droids manage to pass through their own shields with ease, and more importantly, those droid fighters."

"You can't mean..."

"Kid, change the signature."

It took him a moment to scroll through the list of signatures they'd stolen over the years—forcibly or through less violent means. He found 'Clanker Droid Ship' and pressed down on it.

Suddenly, they were seeing a little less fire from the Separatists, although the same couldn't be said of the Republic. A few smaller vessels were suddenly on their tail, almost all of them fighters. General Durel turned to the rear of the ship.

"I'll handle them," he said.

Kurik didn't see what he did, but he did feel a sudden massive outpouring of power. For a few moments, he was forced to continue pushing their ship around the fire of friendly pilots, then it suddenly eased, the alarms going silent.

"Nice one," Dilt said.

They emerged from the chaos and into the clearing around the enemy station. Kurik found an outcropping through the shimmering shield, a landing pad outside a door.

"Alright," he said. "We're going in."

There was no resistance from the shield, no attempt to force them away. The shield opened up in just the slightest, giving them enough room to slip through as the control room misinterpreted their signal.

As they descended, he saw battle droids rushing out to meet them. He held in a scoff as they ineffectively fired up at him, instead reaching for a button and depressing it.

A torpedo fired from under the nose of the vessel, directionless and off-target. Yet he felt Neria and Durel both reach out for it, directing it to the target at the landing pad.

The ensuing blast shook the vessel, but they were otherwise left unharmed, bits of metal strewn all across the landing pad.

They quickly set down, movement visible in every window they could see. The Jedi didn't need to tell them to move, all of the crew surging to the back and quickly descending down the hatch and greeted by the wail of alarms.

As well as three people.

Two Torgrutan and a Rodian, of all things. The Rodian looked to be the older one, taller and radiating red in a way that nearly matched Durel. The students, on the other hand, seemed to flicker with red and grey, far from the occasional pulsing of soft blue from Neria.

He wondered if they could sense that vein of darkness in her.

Their swirling robes parted, familiar cylindrical weapons coming to hand.

"Padawan," General Durel said quietly. "I'll take their leader, you take the students."

"Yes, Master Durel."

They practically mirrored their opponents, drawing their own weapons but dropping their robes, too. Four beams of light activated, two green and two blue. Both the apprentices looked between each other, their fears understandable. Few Jedi preferred using either a pair of lightsabers or dual sabers, and their enemies had both.

"She'll be less coordinated with two weapons, students," the teacher said in a wheezing voice, with all the concern of one giving a class. "Keep your guard up."

And with that, he launched himself at Durel, who blocked the beam but seemed surprised by how quick the teacher was. Indeed, within moments, the fierce flurry of blows was driving the Jedi Knight backward, the attacks being met easily but leaving him unable to assist his padawan.

For her part, Neria didn't seem to need it. The two students started out cautious, but upon receiving little retaliation for each attack, they grew bolder. By the time Kurik had turned to them, they were lashing out with powerful but unsteady swings, easily caught by Neria as she deftly seemed to summon her sabers exactly where they needed to be no matter where the apprentices attacked from.

Kurik was unsure of who to assist, and he wasn't the only one. The clones and the corporal were all looking between the two, but the stalemate ended when Tank pointed at him.

"Kid," the captain said. "You, Dilt, and the corporal take the apprentices, we'll help the general."

A fair division of labor. The three weren't quite as able as the clones, but they would also be taking the easier of the two battles.

Kurik rushed to help Neria, Gebb-Ti right behind him. He angled his pistol up to the apprentices, ready to shoot when he had an opening, but Neria held a hand out to him in a brief window between attacks.

"No!" she shouted. "Don't kill them!"

One of the apprentices leaped forward to attack them, but Neria was in his way immediately, making a close block with one saber and then holding the other out point-first to the other to halt her advance.

Kurik realized that while he couldn't kill the apprentices, that didn't mean he couldn't wound them.

He extended the blaster past Neria and fired low, catching her struggling opponent in the thigh. He cried out and dropped to a knee, and the Twi'lek padawan was easily able to bring the hilt of her lightaber to bear and catch him in the temple. The young man dropped to a heap on the ground.

The girl cried out in outrage, her strikes becoming strangely measured as she flared red. She'd taken the defeat of the young man personally.

Neria was still able to hold her back, lightsaber blocking in front while the one in her other hand forced her opponent away.

Dilt was suddenly behind her, scooping his arms up under her shoulders and keeping her from escaping. Neria gave her the same treatment she'd given the young man, knocking him out cold.

"Thanks for the help," she said as she collected their lightsabers and placed them on her belt. "Dilt, Corporal Gebb-Ti, will you lock them up back on the ship?"

"Is that safe?" Dilt asked. "Can't they do that mind-trick on us?"

"Has that mind trick ever worked on you?"

A valid question. Kurik knew that those of a strong or slippery mind were difficult to easily persuade, and Dilt had both. He'd seen a Jedi try to play that trick on Dilt before to force a change of destination, and it hadn't worked.

"Fair point. I'll send the corporal back once we have 'em locked away."

The two started dragging the assassins away, and Neria looked around, gaze coming to a rest on Kurik.

"Where's Master Durel?"

"He was fighting with the instructor!"

Kurik stayed alongside her as they ran through the doors and to the aid of the Jedi Knight. As they passed through the corridors, he noted the remnants of nearly a half-dozen battle droids scattered about through the hallways.

Kurik fought down the unease he felt, the worry that they would get there to fight General Durel already dead.

To his relief, they found him still battling the instructor in an intersection, the clones warding off a wave of battle droids behind the general. The Jedi Knight himself was still pressing, still giving the instructor far more than he could reasonably handle.

"I'm here!" Neria shouted, a reassurance to her master that she was ready to help.

The instructor glanced her way as she jumped toward him, seemed to sneer, then issued some unintelligible command to the droids.

"Evasion simulation, roger roger."

"They're gonna blow!" Tank shouted as Neria's saber made contact with the instructor's.

The instructor held a hand out, shoving General Durel away. Dreamer tackled Neria. Kurik just backpedaled away, knocking over Corporal Gebb-Ti in the process.

Then came an explosion, a detonation that knocked Kurik off his feet. The blast nearly left him deaf, and it was only by lack of eyes that he was able to see the intersection come down in a blur of debris.

When it was over, General Durel was already there at the debris, hand up against it and worry radiating from his sapphire form.

"Padawan!"

"I'm okay!"

"No you're not, little one," the wheezing voice of the Rodian said. "Your master's not here to save you now."

A clash of lightsabers from the other side of the debris.

"I don't think I'm the one who needs saving."

The squeals and whines of the attacks carried on down the corridor, fading away and eventually going silent.

"Padwan Halai is in trouble," General Durel said. "She's tough, but he'll wear her down or surround her. We have to find another way around."

"Yes sir, we'll...Where's Dreamer?"

"Must be with her." He nodded. "I can only hope, he should be able to help. Come on, we need to find her fast."

"Yes sir."


	19. Chapter 19

**Padawan Neria Halai - Assassin Facility  
**

Neria had underestimated her opponent, that much was clear to her.

She'd been comfortable with him for the first five minutes, then the battle had never seemed to end. He couldn't get an advantage over her, and she wasn't practiced enough on the offensive to break through his defenses.

Dreamer was a constant irritant to the instructor, however, cutting in at the worst moments and trying to get a shot in at her adversary. He was too quick for that, but it gave her hope that they'd eventually find a weakness.

But she was getting tired, and he didn't seem to be letting up. Her only break was when battle droids joined the battle, an easier foe that her opponent gave way for in the hopes that the change in tempo would throw her off.

Neria needed an answer for the instructor, and she wasn't sure that she had one. All she knew was that everything burned, that she was being worn down, and Dreamer wasn't managing to get a good shot in.

His saber swept toward her head, and she ducked under it, trying to sweep his legs out from under him with her own weapons. Yet he merely hopped over the lethal beams, and she rolled backward to escape his retaliation.

Her only advantage—assuming she actually had one—was that he had yet to display much active use of the Force. The uncanny reflexes and sixth sense were there, but the brute application that Neria had only just come to familiarize herself with was absent.

Yet he was too quick, his flurries too constant to actually find room to push him away.

They backed through a reactor room, high platforms suspended from around the thrumming generators. Neither of them stopped, continuing back until she reached one of the reactors.

On a whim, knowing that it would put them all in danger, Neria stretched out after a block and cut straight through one of the reactors. With a squelching that rang clear through the expansive room, the reactor fizzled out.

Another duck, another cut higher up, and a piece of the reactor tumbled from the structure.

Behind her, it seemed Dreamer had figured out her intentions, and he opened fire in rapid succession. The gunfire allowed Neria a moment of quiet, a brief peace where she was able to reach out and wrap the Force around the falling object.

The instructor saw it coming, managed to get his lightsaber in front of it, but splitting the chunk of metal apart didn't stop one of the halves from colliding with him regardless.

He tumbled off the path, but a walkway below him caught the falling assassin. Neria hurled her lightsaber at him, accompanying it with the force and allowing it to spin.

The instructor brought his lightsaber up just in time, blocking her weapon. Before he could collect it from the ground, she reached out and brought it back up to her hand. With the instructor unable to summon the Force to him and jump up to the walkway, Neria was left to briefly ponder her options.

The padawan could've leaped down and continued the fight, but the instructor wasn't her objective. Destroying the facility and rescuing their captives was.  
With that in mind, chest heaving and sweat starting to trickle down her _lekku_ , her gaze turned to the reactors.

A hit directly to the energy sources within could cause a powerful explosion, but simply destroying the machinery shielding and channeling the energy would end in a catastrophic meltdown that would give them more than enough time to escape.

"Go for the bases!" she commanded Dreamer.

Over the enraged cry of the instructor, the clone started to open fire on a pair of distant reactors while Neria swung at the top of another of the structures.

With a low hum, the power cut off, plunging them into darkness but for the crackling of energy where the cuts had come from. Already, the beams of light being projected from between them start to jump and writhe, giving her the impression that they didn't have too long until a slow and fatal chain reaction was in the near future.

Nowall that was visible in the dark was the snout of the Rodian's face, twisted and lit harshly by the red beam of his weapon. He was livid, and he'd eventually find a way up to her.

"We have to go, Padawan," Dreamer said.

She agreed.

The hallways were dark, now, occasional sounds of battle overheard as they tried to navigate their way through the corridors. They were moving slow, giving Neria some time to rest, but they still moved quickly enough to avoid most the fighting.

"Master," she said over her transmitter.

"Padawan, you're alright," he said. "The facility lost power, was that you?"

"Of course."

"Of course. Do you need assistance?"

Neria took stock. They'd lost the instructor, so it would only be down to the battle droids roaming the facility and if they were lucky, they'd find a few more apprentices for her to easily disable on the way to some sort of meeting point.

"We'll meet in the left tower," she said. "I'm pretty close, I'll try to get there fast."

"I'll see you there. Stay safe."

She wasn't certain that was possible, especially when she heard a sound amidst the silence of the station that caught her attention.

The cry of a baby, soft and scared. She practically stared down the hallway it had come from, then looked at Dreamer. He'd heard it as well, and his head turned to Neria, waiting for her orders.

"Come on," she told him.

The clone trooper followed her as they jogged to the sound, but they were interrupted.

Right in their way, the instructor once again stood, his lightsaber out and at the ready. Neria would wonder how he'd known where they would be, but it was his facility, after all.

He wasted no time, this time. There was no talk, no threats. He just flung himself forward, leaping fully off the ground and his saber clashing against hers. She tried to use her other to spear him in the stomach, but he merely twisted away, and then the fight was on again.

"Come on!" Dreamer yelled in frustration, shooting at the instructor's back only for him to roll away and Neria be forced to deflect it instead.

They transitioned into a small room, and for a moment, she gave it no more thought than she had any other featureless expanse they'd passed.  
Then she heard the cries. Babies, younglings. She'd reached her destination.

A glance around found nearly a dozen in metal cribs, the enemy so certain about their chances that they hadn't seen fit to evacuate them. Many looked underfed, all were crying. She had no doubts that the abuse was to start conditioning the youngsters for the life that lay ahead.

"Dreamer!" she shouted.

"I see them, Neria!" The first time he'd ever called her by name, something she chalked up more to their mutual panic and outrage than familiarity. "I'll take care of them, you just take care of him!"

The Rodian sneered at him, but there was little he could do as long as Neria was in his face, and seeing the neglected babies had summoned a second wind in her that saw her drive the instructor back to the door, his red having to move quickly and erratically to match the blue of her sabers.

After so long, neither were particularly able to overcome the other. Her arms still burned, the muscles bunched up at her neck burned, but she couldn't allow him a moment. All she had to do was hold, fend off his red slashes with her steady blue in the darkness of the small room.

Yet even the relative rest of the last few minutes hadn't masked the fatigue she was feeling. It was all too evident in the sluggish swings of her blades, her only mercy that the Rodian seemed to be equally out of sorts.

Just when she wasn't sure how much longer she could put up with him, Dreamer called out to her from somewhere at the rear of the room.

"I've got them!" Neria didn't spare a glance to see how the clone had managed to wrangle up all the babies and younglings, but she still managed a nod. "Come on, let's get out of here!"

Padawan Halai wanted to defeat her enemy and drag him back to the Council, to have something to show for the assault aside from a couple of weak apprentices. Yet she knew she was outmatched, even if only barely. Her best chance for succeeding in her mission would be to simply get away from the instructor and flee with Dreamer.

Yet disentangling herself from the Rodian was no simple matter. He wasn't about to let her leave, and she had no way to see him gone. She was instead left to find something to use, something that could stop him, and her eyes landed on one of the cribs, now empty.

She reached out in between a block and reached out to the furniture, flinging it full-force at the Rodian. He sliced through it with ease, but that gave her enough of an opening to reach forward with her other hand and summon the Force to her.

The resulting push shoved him through the air, sending him crashing to the floor in the middle of an intersection they'd just vacated. She immediately hit the control to close the door, then turned to the clone who'd accompanied her through the fight. He had gathered most of the babies onto a cart, cradling another in his arm.

"Dreamer, the panel!"

"On it!"

He didn't ask what she wanted, raising his weapon and putting a blaster bolt in the panel. It wouldn't keep the Rodian out forever, but it'd give them enough time to run.

They took off at a dead sprint, trying to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the nursery. Once they'd cleared the next intersection, she pulled Dreamer into a small alcove with her. She gestured to his arm.

"Dreamer, tell him we found them," she ordered him. "We're going to try to sneak up to the tower. I'll keep the babies quiet."

She reached out to the terrified younglings and babies, the Force soothing and comforting to the group. They grew silent, and she felt the presence of the Rodian Force-user as he approached. The rescued babies remained quiet, giving no hint as to their location.

Dreamer waited, finger on his transmitter but waiting for the enemy to retreat. For a moment, silence was all that was had, Neria refusing to even breathe.  
The Rodian cursed somewhere down the hallway, unable to find them due to his lack of being able to utilize the Force in anything but the most fundamental functions.

Not that she could rightly criticize. She was still just learning, herself.

When he was away, Dreamer depressed the control on his transmitter. There was a beep, he waited a moment, then he spoke.

"General Durel." His voice was little more than a whisper. "We found the babies and younglings. Neria's making sure they don't cry out and give away our position. We're going to work our way up to the tower, but that Rodian is on the hunt for us."

"Roger that, Sergeant," he said. "We're just cleaning out resistance over here. We'll meet up at the tower, and he won't be able to split us up there."

"On our way, General." He turned off the transmitter and looked up at Neria. "Do we need to rest, Padawan Halai?"

Neria searched for some measure of mockery in his tone, but there was only concern. She supposed she understood. He'd helped, but she'd been carrying the vast bulk of the fighting, and it had to be showing by now.

"The quicker we get there, the quicker we have backup to help us defeat that Rodian," she said. "I'll lead the way. Quickly, now."

 **Again, thank you for all comments/critiques.**


	20. Chapter 20

**CT-1552 – Assassin Facility**

Dreamer was trained for long bouts of combat, but the last fight had managed to suck all of the energy out of him, and he hadn't even been the one carrying the whole battle.

By now, the two babies who had been relegated to his arms were quiet but heavy in his grasp. Neria was keeping the whole lot silent as they quietly moved them up the stairs.

He could distantly hear the sound of battle-droids engaging someone with a lightsaber, and he also heard their blaster fire being returned.

The clone shifted the children in his arms, going for his blaster.

"Don't," Neria told him, holding out a forestalling hand. "I've got this."

As they made their way up the flight of stairs, he saw droids packing the exit, standard battle droids just waiting for the chance to rush up into the room above. A full score of them, by Dreamer's count, and he wasn't sure exactly how the padawan planned to take them all.

But when she suddenly stopped moving, eyes closing and hands coming up, he realized she wasn't intending to.

The wave of power she produced was something that even he could feel, a quiet rumbling that split the air. The babies started to cry, no longer beneficiaries of her attention and disturbed by the shift in power. A pair of droids in the back turned, pausing at the sight behind them.

"Um..." one of them said, turning to a painted droid up front. "Um, Sergeant?"

It was too late. Neria unleashed the power all at once, sending the majority of the droids right through the entrance and sprawling to the ground ahead. The clones cried out in victory as they started dispatching the fallen droids.

Neria herself pulled her lightsaber from its belt and took the heads off a trio of battle droids still trying to struggle to their feet, then marched forward into the chamber. Dreamer was close behind, pulling the cart up with him.

Everyone still seemed to be in good condition. The clones seemed tired, and General Durel was sweating through his robes, but they were otherwise unharmed. Kurik was up at the front of the room, hunched over the consoles at the window with Corporal Gebb-Ti.

"Padawan!"

"Master Durel!"

Dreamer was equally relieved as the padawan to see the Jedi Knight ahead. The presence of both made him feel safe, like he had finally shut the enemy out of the gates of some impenetrable castle. Between him and his padawan, that Rodian wouldn't have a chance.

"You've caused a lot of damage, I must say," the knight said, a small turn at the corner of his lips. "I expected nothing less."

"Did you find any other children, General?" Dreamer asked.

"No," Durel told them. "But I have the figures." He nodded to the babies on the cart and in the clone trooper's hands. "Those plus the two Neria incapacitated earlier match my counts. Now we're just waiting for Kurik to lock down the damage before we go."

"Do we have an exit strategy?"

"I have our starship captain on his way," the Jedi Knight told him. "For now, I just want to make sure that the Separatists cannot undo the damage we've already done." His eyes traveled over Dreamer, noticeably lingering on a scuff of his armor where a blaster bolt had grazed him. "Are you alright, Dreamer?"

"Well enough, sir. Just something a burn to add to the medical list once we make it back home."

"Thanks for protecting my student."

"She protected herself well enough. I was just carrying the babies and shooting all the clankers."

"Droids she didn't have to put up with," the Jedi pointed out as Neria departed to help the clones hold their position. "You did well, Sergeant, learn to accept some credit."

"As you say, General." He looked past him, to where their pilot was hunched over a console. "How did the kid do?"

"Well enough." He shrugged. "Unlike my padawan, I was just dealing with battle droids—if far more than I anticipated. I didn't particularly need the assistance, but he held up. I might be thinking about including him in the order, if I get a better feel for his abilities."

"Would they take him?"

"An exception would have to be made, I'm certain, but I also know that the council has been quietly talking about bolstering the ranks. We've been hemorrhaging Jedi to this war, and they're increasingly lax on standards. Why do you think they're considering Neria for knighthood?"

"Sir?" Dreamer asked, a little surprised by the unsubtle slight. "She fights well."

"She does, but many padawan years ago would've won that fight with the instructor. Then there's her lack of knowledge when it comes to practical application of the Force..."

"Surely you must think there some redeeming quality in her, General."

"Make no mistake, she's come quite far in such a short amount of time, but the padawans before the Clone Wars were able to content with full-fledged Sith."

"It seems unfair to hold her to the same standard as General Kenobi, sir."

"I with to hold her to the same standard as he was when he was a padawan, Dreamer. We all started somewhere." He shook his head. "It's immaterial. If she's granted knighthood, we will still travel together. She can continue her learning until she's where she needs to be."

"At least she'll have a good teacher, General."

Something mischievous gleamed in the Zabrak's clever eyes. "Yes," he said. "Well, I suppose there are worse places she could be. And make no mistake, she has boundless potential that more conventional Jedi lack the willingness to engage with."

"Mmm." Dreamer hummed his agreement as only a way to end the conversation, his headache coming back now that they were relatively safe and the adrenaline was beginning to wear off.

General Durel looked concerned, and his lips parted to voice his concern until Kurik called out to them.

"We're ready!" he said. "Nothing short of an army of engineers can stop this place from going up!"

Just in time, too, as the sounds of blaster fire down the stairwell became increasingly pronounced and frequent. Everyone looked to the door with concern as it opened, Tank and the rest of the soldiers backing through. Corporal Gebb-Ti was last, the Bothan blowing out the panel to buy them an extra minute.

"Clankers, sir," Tank reported. "A whole army of them, too. The fleet must've sent down reinforcements."

"Great," the Jedi Knight answered caustically before turning to the other side of the room. "Well, the door over there is our way to the top. Follow me."

There was some difficulty with the children, but they were able to disperse them amongst the clones, letting everyone carry them up to the rooftop of the tower.

The battle still raged on outside the shield, both fleets soundlessly warring as if the invasion of the facility was of no concern to them. Dreamer was thankful that the Republic fleet had stalled as long as it had, but they were likely growing tired of the maneuvers the same as the infiltration group was becoming exhausted of battle.

They were interrupted from their exit by droids, the battle droids joined by their broad-shouldered advanced brethren. They opened fire on the clones immediately, who managed to get down and leave the children with the Jedi, the safest place they could be in a full three-kilometer radius.

Dreamer was no different. Once the babies were protected, he was with the rest of his brothers, firing away at the mass of steel and blasters.

His only luck was that neither the battle droids nor their advanced cousins were particularly smart. They took no cover, relying on pinpoint accuracy to carry the day. It was an advantage the clones exploited, and indeed, one they often exploited through all the campaigns.

Dreamer switched targets to an advanced battle droid, drilling a trio of holes in the mechanical soldiers. He glanced up from his position when a battle droid trying to level its weapon at him was dispatched, finding Corporal Gebb-Ti behind him. The Bothan gave the clone one of his affirming nods before opening fire on a nearby battle droid getting too close to his position.

The clone trooper opened up on a trio of droids nearing Tank and his unit, not quite managing to catch all three but distracting the last one long enough for the clones to take care of it.

"Dreamer!" Tank shouted, pointing to a environmental unit nearby. "You and Fury set up a position over there!"

He did just that, the young clone joining at his back as they ran through a field of fire, taking up a position on the droids' flanks as they emerged from below. They carried on firing there, helping to slow the numbers leaking onto the roof.

Just as he was about to curse their smuggler captain, thinking he abandoned them to make good his escape, a voice rang in over his transmitter.

"Someone need a pickup!?"

The _Jack of Trades_ suddenly descended from above, the bulky smuggling vessel maneuvering between a pair of antennae in order to descend low over their platform. Dreamer heard the engines slow as the jets under the vessel ignited, setting the vehicle to hover.

When the hatch descended, their Devaronian starship captain emerged from the back, standing above the battlefield with a heavy blaster the like of which Dreamer had never seen before.

With a powerful cry, it loosed a bolt that caught the torso of one of the battle droids, practically vaporizing everything beneath the neck. He leaned away as one of the droids fired at him, then took a shot at one of the super battle droids that dropped the tin can to the ground.

Dreamer wanted that weapon.

"Come on!" Master Durel shouted, waving them forward.

The clones gave cover as the Jedi, Kurik, and Corporal Gebb-Ti moved for the ramp, the children dispersed between the four of them. They were quick to get up, assisted by Dilt with one hand as his other utilized the pistol.

The clones were in good form now that the end of the operation was in sight. Three of them helped dispatch the droids already at the top while Dreamer and Fury alternated fire to suppress the droids trying to emerge from the doorway.

Eventually, the Jedi were aboard the vessel, then it was the clones turn.

"Dreamer!" Tank shouted over the din. "Dreamer, we alternate!"

He got the point well enough. A fighting retreat.

One group would fall back while the other suppressed the droids, settle in, then cover for the other unit. All the while, Dilt and Kurik kept up the fire from above, the two not quite as accurate as the clones but still managing enough damage and suppression that it eased the clones' burden.

They made it to the ramp, and Kurik bolted for the other door, trying to get to the cockpit as quickly as possible. The droids spilled out over the roof, but the combination of constant blaster fire and the deflection from the Jedi served to make a near-impenetrable position as the ramp closed.

Then the door shut, and Dreamer felt the vessel rock under them.

Most the clones rushed away to secure the children, but Dreamer was left without a task, instead joining the group in the cockpit.

The Miralukan pilot was already settled into his seat, punching controls and angling them toward the shield. Already, Dreamer could see that part of the force field was collapsing, a result of the reactor meltdowns in the academy. The rushing current of atmosphere being consumed by the voracious void pulled them into it, creating a strange glide that pushed them through one of the holes and back outside.

"Alright," Kurik said. "Time to go home."

"This is the _Jack of Trades_ ," Dilt reported over their comms unit. "We've got our cargo, and this fortress is ready to blow. We all better start getting out of here."

Indeed, as he spoke, small pockets of resistance began to link up, slowly traveling over to one another and conglomerating until only a handful of large groups remained to fight back the Separatist fleet.

And through it all, they were easily able to slip through established battle lines. As Kurik started up the hyperdrive sequence, Dreamer already saw Republic ships slipping into hyperspace, suddenly disappearing from the inky void.

Then, with a victorious cry and streams of light past the cockpit, the ship launched itself to safety.


	21. Chapter 21

**Kurik Otela –** ** _Jack of Trades_**

He pressed a couple of fingers to his datapad, reassuring himself of its continued presence. It had been easy enough to find once they'd located the storage room. The other clones had been busy stocking up on ammunition while the Jedi Knight held the position, and Kurik had simply run across it among a number of boxes whose Republic markings had been a little _too_ perfect.

The Miralukan had confirmed the data quickly enough, no more than a few secret trading routes that the smuggler had intended to report to Jabba. Easy credits, something to just get his foot in the door with someone who had real power.

Kurik didn't know how—or indeed, if—he would break it to Dilt, but perhaps the captain would understand. He couldn't just hang on to a marketable pilot for so long, especially when there were plenty of people around who would pay him more.

He wanted to transmit the information, but it would take him some time while they were in hyperspace. Instead of immediately trying to send it, he merely retrieved a long-range transmitter from the helm and marched back through the vessel to make sure everyone was preoccupied.

Neria was resting in her room; he supposed that even the Jedi needed their sleep. The blue of her form was noticeably weaker, a a soft beat instead of vivid pulse. Given the ordeal she'd been put through, he couldn't blame her. He'd heard firsthand from Dreamer what they'd gone through before the clone had excused himself for their small bay.

The bay itself was overrun by the clones, as was to be expected. They still celebrated their victory, still shared stories to raucous laughter. Tank watched the squad with a smile, occasionally sharing a sip of ale with Dilt.

After all he'd seen of the clone captain, Kurik had to admit a grudging respect that he knew was one-sided. The clone had treated him as a liability the entire way, but he'd also been one of the most capable commanders that the pilot had ever seen. Someone he wouldn't want to serve under, but someone he would be more than happy to hear was coming to save him.

He moved on, looking next for Dreamer. He suspected he knew where he'd find him.

Kurik passed the Jedi Knight in the cargo hold, tending to the babies and children with the Force. He paid the pilot little attention, likely too busy with his task.

Sure enough, the clone lay in the medical bay, in a silence brought on by drugs trying to pull him into the black abyss of sleep. He may have achieved that blissful state were it not for the entrance of Kurik, his eyes lazily tracking toward the Miralukan.

"Hey, are you better?"

"A little, kid." Unlike Tank, there was a fondness when Dreamer used the name. "How are you? You were put under some fire."

"Not my first time in a gunfight, Dreamer."

"S'ppose not. Must've been your first time in an operation, though. Up against the soldiers of the Separatists rather than a bunch of thugs or pirates. That kind of thing is a little bit different, less explosions and more quick gunfire."

"I'm fine. More worried about your head."

"Gah, you're worried about my head, General Durel's worried about my head, Tank's worried about my head, the padawan's worried about my head, everyone but me."

"The padawan?"

"Ah, right, suppose it slipped out." He shrugged. "She's uncomfortable with the whole 'commander' thing. So I've been endeavoring to use it less."

"I suppose it's good, then, that I'm on a first-name basis with her." Kurik sat down next to the clone. "You know, Knight Durel has been giving me an awful lot of looks out of the corner of his eye. He's watching, evaluating. He's not planning to poach me from the crew, is he?"

"Look, kid, all I know is you're Force-sensitive. I've only ever seen those types with the Jedi or farming with the Agriculture Corps. I have no mind for the matter."

What he hinted toward was far more interesting to Kurik that what he'd said, the careful tone of voice telling the pilot that something was being omitted. The clone may have been an exceptional soldier, but he was no good as a liar.

"So he mentioned something, then?"

"I'm not at liberty to say." For all that his poker face was cracked and worried, he may as well have just answered in full. "It'd be a tough life, kid, especially at your age."

"Neria's about the same age as me."

"With nearly a decade more experience than you." He lifted his head from the pillow, and though Kurik was unable to make out details in his undoubtedly russet eyes, he was willing to guess at a clear intent. "Surely you wouldn't be interested?"

"I...don't know," he said, thinking of the datapad. "I have...options. Options that need considering."

"Want my advice, kid?"

"Might as well, I'm not getting any from somewhere else."

Dreamer's gaze sluggishly traced back to the ceiling. "Do neither," he replied. "This war is miserable, it'll be like this for you day in and day out. If you can avoid it, avoid it, and get away from this starship."

"It's an honest living," Kurik protested. When the clone turned a dubious look on him, he amended with, "It's a relatively safe living."

"Moisture farming is a safe living, the service industry is a safe living, freighter piloting is a safe living. Smuggling is not a safe living."

"I'd worry about yourself, Dreamer. This war doesn't seem like it's gonna get easier anytime soon. The Separatists seem to be picking up the manufacturing every day."

"Hah, they can throw all the clankers they like at us. Long as my brothers and the Jedi are around, we'll be fine."

"And what about after the war?"

"We back at this, kid?"

"I'm curious?"

He stared at Kurik some time, and the pilot could sense his weariness. Still, he offered up an answer after a tired sigh.

"Painting, I should think. I have a blank canvas, first one I ever bought with my earnings. I had it for two months and couldn't find anything worthy of it. So I continue to paint on other blank canvases, mediocre stuff I wouldn't dare inflict on a decent people. What about you?"

"Same as before, Dreamer, credits."

"Hmph, we'll see after a few years." He waved toward the door. "Go on, kid. Last thing you need is me falling asleep in the middle of a conversation. Go on."

"Get better, Dreamer."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine."

He yawned long and loud as Kurik left, and he counted everyone as ticked off his list before remembering one final member of their merry little band, one who often went forgotten in the heat of the battle.

Corporal Gebb-Ti was attending to their two apprentice assassins, leaning up against the wall of their detainment hold and watching the two Togrutans. He looked at Kurik, gave him a nod, then turned his attention back to their captives.

"So, who are they?"

"Abductees," the Bothan said, arms crossed. "Willing, they say. I don't think that's how it started."

"What do you know?" one of the Togrutan assassins asked. "Our masters made us strong. Stronger than we ever would've been otherwise."

"Fighting skill is not the only measure of strength," the Bothan said. Then his head fell back against the wall, and he laughed. "You weren't very effective there, either. Our padawan made you look like amateurs, and she's not even the most capable Jedi on this craft."

"Our instructor would show her. He's strong, he'd destroy—"

"He didn't get the job done." Kurik smiled. "To hear Dreamer tell of it, he just could not break through her defenses. We got you, the children, we even got to destroy the facility. Not a bad day's work."

"Shut it!"

There was nothing the Togrutan could do but slam the meaty part of his fist against the frame of the door projecting a shield in front of him. His sister looked at him, at the Bothan, then turned to Kurik.

"You," she said. "You, you're...not a Jedi?"

"Just a pilot."

"You seem...You seem in tune with the Force."

"All of my people are. We're blind, but we see with the assistance of the Force. I know little more about the Force than a Gamorrean in a sewer."

"You would be an excellent recruit," she said. "I sense ambition, confusion..."

"And disinterest." Kurik crossed his arms. "I saw the way those babies were treated by your master. I think I'll forego that treatment."

"But you'd start so much further. I can sense that you're already at the barest level of ability."

"Are you trying to recruit me from inside a cell?"

A slanted smile on thin red lips. "Perhaps," she said. "You wear a blaster, but imagine if you could wear a weapon far more powerful, something that would make people tremble at the very sight of you."

"And all he has to do is kill me, release you, then let you take over the ship," Corporal Gebb-Ti said. "Oh, and then you let him live afterward even though you have every reason not to."

"Can't blame me for trying."

That was all she said, returning to her cot and grinning as if she'd won her bout. Perhaps she was putting up a front, or perhaps she didn't truly believe that she'd face any consequences where she was going. Either way, it wasn't Kurik's problem, and his question concerning the corporal was answered.

That left Kurik home free, able to set up the transmitter without worry of interference. He made a quick exit back to his room, taking a seat on the deck. He closed the door behind him, then set up the transmitter, connecting it to the datapad.

He typed in the number he'd been given, waiting for the transmitter to connect with the datapad back at Jabba's Palace. Whoever was on the other end was quite attentive, returning the handshake in moments.

Kurik sent away the information, then waited patiently. There was a long pause, hopefully to confirm his data. Jabba was many things, most of them bad, but he didn't refuse to pay those who did his work.

Sure enough, moments later, the payment arrived. The young pilot started to verify the payment, then a familiar voice piped up behind him

"Is something wrong?"

Neria's presence came to him seconds later, easy to sense now that he was pulled from his singular focus. He turned to find her blocking the doorway, slim figure somehow managing to be menacing even if she radiated a warmth and concern.

"No, nothing wrong," he said, standing up and trying to ease his way out of the doorway. "I was just changing out my headwrapping."

He didn't have to see her reaction to know she wasn't buying it. "That's not what I felt," she told him. "Deception, worry...That's what I felt."

Kurik couldn't help but notice that she didn't budge from the exit.

"What, you think I'm trying to get in touch with the Separatists? Come on."

"No, I don't think that's what you're doing at all." A pause, a glance to the floor as if in contemplation, then she looked back up. "Do what you will, Kurik. But both Master Durel and I have come to like you, and I would be sad to see you in Jabba's palace in a few years, one of those murderers leering at me from the dark. Beware the influences around you, they may be a greater danger than any enemy you've faced."

"And what would you know? You live in a cloister with men and women who devote their life to nothing but self-righteousness. What do you know of people who don't have a temple to provide for them?"

"I don't know much about life on the outside, I'll be the first to admit," the Twi'lek Jedi said. "But I will tell you that I've been passed from teacher to teacher, and I'm on my last chance. I know what it's like to fear, to feel desperate."

"Not feelings I would expect of a Jedi."

"We're not impervious to emotions, and they've certainly made me a concern to the council. But I will say this: you have a choice in how you face that desperation. I choose to fight and uphold my better angels until I have no more fight in me. How about you?"

He had no answer, but she didn't seem intent on finding one regardless. She disappeared from the doorway, silently slinking down the corridor.

"Jedi," Kurik grumbled, turning his gaze back to the datapad.


	22. Chapter 22

**Padawan Neria Halai – Coruscant**

Thoughts of her conversation with Kurik weighed heavy on the padawan's mind, the only respite from the nagging worries of the padawan being the sight of a downed Separatist ship still smoking in front of the Senate.

"What happened here?" Tank asked, voice subdued by the sight of the carnage.

"I sense...relief. Peace." Knight Durel looked down at Neria, eyes glimmering. "Do you feel it, Padawan?"

Neria stretched out, finding familiar echoes, familiar people. She felt it too, though. The overwhelming warmth and bliss of relief, the notable absence of fear that had been lifted away from the shoulders of those under its yoke.

But she felt tension as well, a constant buzz of undercurrent that had always lurked beneath the sun-bathed spires and incessant busy of the metropolis. It was more than the simple bustle of the city, some emotion she couldn't describe washing over her.

For all that the city _appeared_ peaceful, she felt as if the city and the people in it were holding their breath, felt as though there was some storm gathering on the horizon that they were waiting for.

She didn't mention it to Durel, surprised that he hadn't been able to sense it. Perhaps he was simply too jubilant from the operation to note the strange feeling.

They landed on one of the temples pads, and they were greeted immediately by one of the Jedi, the padawan telling them that the council was waiting for them to report.

The temple was in full swing, even if the afternoon was starting to grow late. Children were still receiving training, instructors were still giving lessons, even the library managed to be filled near to the brim.

A lot of activity, to be sure. She wondered what had set all of them out of their rooms. Perhaps it had something to do with the relief she'd felt all across the city. Maybe they felt as if they could finally take a breath.

When they entered the circular room, the entirety of the council was gathered—Master Kenobi and Master Secura aside. Most were being projected in from somewhere else. Only Master Windu, Master Shaak-Ti, and Master Fisto remained in their seats.

"Good, you've come." Grandmaster Yoda sounded tired as he spoke, though she could say the same of his last few years. "A great victory, this was. Meant to be at the temple, I did, but come to Kashyyyk, the Separatists have."

"Yes, most of us are fighting, right now." Master Windu shook his head. "With luck, Kenobi will knock out the final arm of the Separatists for us. But if not, at least we know we've crushed the last of the Sith's underlings. Now we just need to find Dooku's master."

"Dooku has been killed?" Knight Durel asked.

"Yes, an attack on the Chancellor, there was," Yoda said. "Lucky our best were there, we were. Killed by Skywalker, Count Dooku has been. Hunting down Grievous, Kenobi is."

"Good," Durel answered, an approving look coming to his eyes. "He may not be our best fighter, but nobody's more clever than him."

"Not to mention that he's one of the few to survive the general alone in close quarters," Master Windu said.

Neria couldn't figure how. They had holos of the half-machine general, and Neria had once dared to fight it. She hadn't lasted more than a minute before being defeated. An enemy wielding two lightsabers was dangerous enough, but four was an impossibility to handle.

"What of our captives?" Durel asked them.

"I'll be tending to the ones we rescued immediately after this meeting," Master Shaak-Ti said. "You did well, everyone."

"Yes." Grandmaster Yoda nodded. "Yes. More resistance than expected, there was." His head turned to Neria. "You especially impressed, I hear."

Neria was glad to be acknowledged, the still-burning muscles a testament to exactly how difficult her fight had been. She quickly stuffed it down, reminding herself of the Code and exactly how many Jedi Masters were gathered around her.

"I just did my best, Master Yoda."

"Still, it's strange that we were unable to detect such a bastion of Dark Side strength." Master Fisto's eyes turned to Yoda, the dark orbs questioning. "They were no Sith Army of old, but we truly are blind, it seems, to not sense such a enclave of assassins."

"If...If I may, Master," Neria said, holding up a hand. When nobody stopped her, she continued. "The instructor and student didn't seem capable of utilizing the Force. The instructor seemed nearly as well-trained as the holograms of that Sith assassin we fight in the training room, but they never once called upon the Force. I actually left the instructor on a lower walkway, and he couldn't jump up to me."

"Interesting," Master Fisto said. "Trained in combat, but not in the Force. It's just like General Grievous."

"Meant to be apprentices, they are not," Yoda agreed. "Fought one before you have, Master Fisto. And you, Dreamer. Display use of the Force, did they?"

"Weakly, sir," Dreamer said. "It was in my report. I've seen even Padawan Halai pull off far more powerful feats than the assassin I fought on Bothawui."

"They must've learned on their own," Master Windu said, scrutinizing eyes peering over his tented fingertips. "And yet...Why these assassins? Why are we only seeing them now? Is it desperation, or the furthering of some grand plan?"

"Perhaps it's this incoming danger we sense," Master Shaak-Ti said. "Perhaps they're...adjacent to it. Part of it."

For a moment, Neria saw a strange look in Yoda's eye, a sad, almost longing gaze aimed at the Jedi Master. Not physical attraction or some wistful glance, but it was clear that there was something he wanted to say, something important, and he was keeping it to himself. None of the other Masters seemed to notice, a much more visual tell than anything the Force could reveal to them.

Then it was gone, and the old Jedi looked around the room.

"Read the reports, we have?" he asked, receiving nods in return. "Before we give our next orders, any questions, are there?"

"Dreamer, are you well?" Mace Windu asked.

As always, it surprised Neria that a Jedi Master so fearsome and intimidating never missed a detail. Despite his brusque nature, he always seemed to actually care about the Jedi and clones—under his command or not.

"Yes, General, sorry," the clone said. "Recurring headaches, I plan to be seen for them soon, sir."

"Be sure you do," the fierce Jedi Master answered. "Is there anything else requiring our attention?"

"Not that I'm aware of, Master Windu," Knight Durel said.

"Alright. We've gotten unconfirmed reports of some sort of cell lurking in the underworld here on Coruscant, their objective being an attack on the Jedi Temple. It wouldn't be the first time; we've had a bounty hunter sneak in here, and then there was Padawan..."

He trailed off, and there was a strange emotion that Neria could feel around the council. Regret, anger, resentment. All emotions that Jedi Masters shouldn't have been displaying so plainly as to let the padawan see it, but then, the war had stretched everyone's control.

At least, according to them, the war was near its end. With Master Kenobi hunting down General Grievous, that would be the end of it but for some unnamed third player.

"Immaterial, it is." Yoda's voice carried the slightest of reproach, and Master Windu looked away. "Investigate, you will. Captain Hekteros, require your connections, we will. Good pay, there will be."

"Always a sound I like to hear, Master Yoda," the smuggler captain said. "I've got a few people on Coruscant I can inquire with. Might not be able to pinpoint our people, but I can get us in the area."

"Good," Master Plo-Koon said in his modulated voice. "Very good. Deliver these people to local security forces, and we will be done with this."

"It'll be done, General," Tank said.

"Good, then you're dismissed."

Then the leader of the Jedi spoke, a noticeable weariness in his form and some sad emotion weighing down his gaze.

"Padawan," Grandmaster Yoda said. "Stay behind, you will. The rest of you, start investigating, you will. Have to do without the padawan, you must."

Neria stayed put, unsure what the council could ever want from her. Knight Durel paused next to her, surprise evident in his form, but then he nodded regardless. The group left the circular chamber, Kurik last with a final lingering look at her.

Then the doors closed, and the council eased into a much more comfortable atmosphere. Speaking to a padawan was far less conflicting than mission briefings and after-action reports.

"Padawan Halai, you did incredibly well, taking on the instructor as you did," Windu said.

"Yes, Masters," Neria said, uncertain. "What do you require of me?"

"Normally, Padawan, we'd continue our evaluations of you for at least another few months," the fearsome Jedi Master continued, staring down from his chair. "But you're a special exception. You already have the martial and combat skills to match a Jedi Knight, and you seem to be growing in leaps and bounds, where the Force is concerned. For that reason, we'd request that you take the trials."

Neria was agape by the time they'd finished, unsure what to say. She'd certainly expected that the boundless progress she'd made ever since the Battle of Geonosis would eventually elevate her to the ranks of the knights. Yet, she couldn't help but let curiosity overcome.

"It's...It's highly unusual, Master," she said.

"Unusual, it is," Yoda told her. "Yet needed, you are. Remain under Knight Durel's tutelage, you will."

"Then I'm effectively the same as where I started, Master?"

"No," Shaak-Ti said, shaking her head. "No, you will have access to more learning and knowledge that padawans are not privy to. You will also assume a greater command role in the war, hopefully as soon as we can find you a unit."

Thrust into battle once again, just like Knight Durel had been afraid of. Neria found herself strangely conflicted by the offered choice. She'd always wanted to be a Jedi Knight, but something about the offer felt wrong.

After so long being held back and being treated like she wasn't worthy of a good teacher, she was being pushed through. It felt like an honor she had yet to truly earn, even if she had the academic knowledge and combat skills of the average Jedi Knight.

Neria reminded herself that many among the knights' ranks didn't need to be peerless warriors on par with the masters. She saw plenty of Jedi Knights who were more scholar than fighter, more investigator than warrior, more sage than duelist. Neria could likely claim a better mastery of her weapon over many of the mild and less combat-oriented knights.

It was with that in mind that—despite her reservations—she made her decision.

"Yes, Master," she said. "I will take the trials."

"Tonight, it will be," Grandmaster Yoda said. "As soon as possible."

At that announcement all of the masters favored the grandmaster with a look as surprised as she'd given them when they'd told her she would soon be taking the trials.

Yet even if she was still a little sore, even if the last battle had left her feeling slightly depleted, she knew she still had plenty of fight left in her. It was what had gotten her so far when everyone else had figured her for lost.

"If I may, Master, I haven't eaten since the mission," she said. "I must get some food, and then I'll be ready for the trials."

"Eat, you should," he agreed. "Shaak-Ti, administer the trial, you will."

"Yes, Master Yoda," she said with a nod, violet eyes on Neria. "Thirty minutes, you will have. You know where to meet me for the trials." A small smile lit onto her lips. "You've spent some time eying the rooms by now."

"Very well," Master Windu said. "We will reconvene tomorrow."

One by one the Jedi faded from the room, until only the trio of masters were left. Figuring the meeting over, Neria left the council chambers.

The Twi'lek padawan would get some food in her and stretch out the muscles still tight from the last battle. Then, she'd be ready for her next battle.

 **On the off-chance it wasn't obvious by the who is/was not present at the meeting and what was discussed, we're closing in on the end of the Clone Wars part of this story. I might take a week or two afterwards to plan the second part out, then come on back.**


	23. Chapter 23

**CT-1552 – Coruscant**

Medical. A place that any decent clone dreaded being.

Of course, Dreamer could only complain so much about the painkillers keeping the headache at bay, the kind bedside manner of the medical droids, and the constant fussing of the apprentices. Yet no soldier wanted to be stuck in the medbay. It was a tacit omission of weakness, viewed by every soldier as the sanctuary of those that weren't up to snuff.

If Dreamer had his way, he never would've seen the inside of the medical bay, much less be nursed to health in it. Yet there was no way around it. His captain had ordered it, General Durel had ordered it, and the next in line for the title of Jedi Grandmaster had ordered it. With so much weight behind the commands, what could Dreamer do but trudge to the bay in the manner of a beaten man?

Then he'd gotten a set of orders equally unpleasant. Whatever was wrong with him came from some sort of shrapnel in his head, something that had left him completely baffled. The battle on Bothawui had been chaotic, but he certainly would've remembered something being thrust into his skull.

Yet they showed him the scans, and there it had been. Utterly baffled by the mysterious object, he'd accepted that something had to be done. Due to his genetic structure. They'd said it was best for the doctors on Kamino to poke around in his brain.

Some part of him didn't want to leave the Jedi Temple. He'd grown fond of the place, and some strange feeling came to him, some certainty that he wouldn't see it again if he left. It was a gut instinct that he typically took seriously, and he wondered if he would be ordered elsewhere once he was stuck on Kamino.

He'd yet to hear what grand task had seen Neria held back from the rest of the group, thought he could guess. The fortitude she'd shown during the fight with the instructor had been nothing short of impressive, and so had been the growth she'd shown in the short time between her new instructor and the operation.

Yet something still felt off about her. The way she exerted power seemed something unlike General Durel. Perhaps she still hadn't changed since she'd been taken on, simply learning to mask whatever darkness lurked inside her.

It disturbed him, the idea that the brash but ultimately kindhearted teenager could ever turn to evil, but then, perhaps that was what made the dark side so insidious. It was often too late before people realized it had taken them, and by then, they didn't care.

He also hoped to see General Durel and Kurik before he left. The former was a fine soldier and a good comrade, the highest compliments the clone could think to give, and he wanted to leave some parting advice for Kurik. He didn't know if the kid would actually listen, but then, he understood that to be something of the standard operating procedure for teenagers.

"Dreamer."

The call came from Master Shaak-Ti, the calm Togrutan looming by the entrance of the medbay. Shrouded by brown robes, only her hands and head were visible of the alien Jedi. The medical droids stayed out of her way as she approached, a gentle and serene presence.

Of all the Jedi Masters, she was the one he had the most experience with. She'd been there through his training, then she'd spent her last four months in the Jedi Temple. Serene and implacable, she was the model of a Jedi Master.

"General Shaak-Ti," he said. "What do you need of me?"

"We've got a transport coming in half an hour," she told him. "We're going to send you out on it, best to get your things packed."

"Understood, ma'am." He swung his feet out from under the covers, planted them on the floor, and stretched on his way up. "Thank you for the notice. I still need to get my paintings packed."

"Hm, you're the only clone I've ever known to paint." To his surprise, she followed along with him as he left the medical bay and hung a left to his room. "Knew a few that wrote, one who tried to make movies, but never a painter."

"You would think I was the only one who ever daydreamed, to hear my brothers speak of it."

"As you well know, I've seen a lot of clones come and go through Kamino. Your brothers all want to be tough, never want to admit that anything beyond the war occupy their time. You literally put one of our Jedi Knights on your shoulders and led a skirmish against a force-user. Maybe more of your number should dream."

"That's very kind, General."

"And at least you have something to keep your mind busy after the war." She nodded, a small smile forming on her red lips. "I sense this conflict coming to an end. I don't know what the Galactic Senate plans to do with the clone army."

"I would think that we do what most soldiers do. Just stay in or find other employment."

"As you say." To his surprise, the Jedi Master sounded preoccupied. Her amethyst eyes turned up to him, and he was momentarily struck motionless by their intent. "Dreamer, I see danger in your future. I don't know why, I don't know how. With Grievous running from Kenobi and the Separatists falling back, it's hard to say what danger you could face."

"Pirates, perhaps?"

"Perhaps." Master Shaak-Ti glanced down, paused for a moment, then looked back up. "Be careful, Sergeant. I would be saddened to hear that you weren't coming back."

"And so would I," he said, stopping outside his room. "Thank you, General Shaak-Ti, for the warning."

"It's no problem." Her gaze moved down the hall. "I must prepare, now. I'm putting one of our oldest and strongest Padawan through her trials soon."

"You don't mean..."

A small smile came against to her face, and she said, "Farewell, Dreamer."

With a swish of the robes that shrouded her, the Jedi Master was walking back down the hall, knights and padawans both separating the make way for the highly respected leader of their order. Then she was down the corner, disappearing from Dreamer's view.

The clone stepped into his small room, looking around at his effects. What scant possessions he had were already packed in a trio of small boxes, with his paintings and gear all that was left unpacked.

Thankfully, he already had a tube prepared for the finished canvases, but he paused when his eyes fell upon the one canvas he'd never dared to paint on. His first canvas, still as well-preserved and plain as the day he'd bought it.

It was frustrating, not knowing what to paint upon its surface, the material practically crying out to him to be filled. He ignored the quiet urge to do something with it. He'd find something worthy of its blank stretch one day.

Dreamer packed his first canvas with extra care, setting it apart from the others in its own tube. After taking a moment to mark it, he turned to his gear, the last items that required his attention before he left.

Clones weren't required to wear their armor in the Jedi Temple, both to maintain the appearance of a peaceful enclave and because it was wildly unnecessary when the Jedi were more security for the temple than the clones could ever be.

And the weapons remained out of hand for the same reasons.

Yet Dreamer donned the armor regardless, for the sake of easy transport. His weapon was worn, but he kept the small carbine in the holster at his thigh. Once he was fully dressed, he swept the room one more time for any miscellaneous items, but it was clear.

He gathered the three boxes under his arm, slung the tubes over his shoulder, and started for the landing pads.

The Jedi Temple was more subdued so close to dusk. Most of the younglings were either being led to a late dinner or early bedtime. The instructors were all either in small groups, sharing reports of progress or methods before splitting up back to their rooms.

The corridors were noticeably light on Jedi Knights or Jedi Masters, but that was to be expected. With so many masters who were on the battlefield, it followed that the knights would also be out there in a last press on the retreating Separatists.

He wondered if the war would over by the time he was back. Would he be back on the battlefield alongside a General Halai? Would he be telling his brothers that he'd spent the final hours of the Clone Wars in a medical bay in Kamino?

For all that he dreamed of a life outside of battle, he'd always expected to attend the last gasp of the Separatists, to fight alongside his brothers and the Jedi in the final battle. Yet there was nothing for it. He had orders from practically everyone with rank over him.

He wasn't the only clone at the landing pad. Two of his brothers were also loafing around in full gear, both of lower rank than him. When he approached, both snapped to attention in greeting.

"Sergeant," one said. "Sorry, we were—"

"Don't worry about it." Dreamer waved a hand dismissively. "You guys headed to Kamino, too?"

"Yeah." The lowest ranking of the two, a private, shook his head. "Can't believe this. The war's almost over, and we're going back there for guard duty. You, Sergeant?"

"Medical. Took some shrapnel to the head on the battlefield, I need some specialized attention."

"Ah, we..."

The corporal was drowned out by the peel of engines, and they all looked up to find their transport descending upon them, a standard Republic transport vessel that would likely link them up with a corvette outside atmosphere.

"I don't like being away from the temple," Dreamer muttered to one of the clones, looking out at the shuttle. "I don't like it at all."

"C'mon, Sergeant," the corporal said as the shuttle perched on the center of the platform next to them. "It won't be all that bad. You can be back around the swishing robes once they get that shrapnel outta your head. Don't know why you're so concerned."

His thoughts came back to that uncomfortable twisting in his stomach. Everything just felt wrong, and he didn't know why.

The clone trooper was just about to climb the ramp to the open hatch, then something landed atop the transport with a _thud_. He looked up to find a walkway an entire thirty meters above them, and realized who it was even before her head popped up above the hatch.

"Oh, sorry about that," Neria said to the two clone troopers next to him who had raised their weapons. "Just...wanted to say goodbye before you took off."

The clones lowered their weapons, glancing between each other in confusion as Neria hopped off the top of the transport and landed on the pad next to him with a practiced ease.

"You didn't have to come all this way, Padawan Halai," he said. "I'm going to come back, I've been told."

"You don't seem so sure," she told him. "I can sense it, you know. You're doubting. Scared."

"Scared?"

"Anxious," Neria replied by way of correction. "I'm going to be right back here when you get back. I can feel it, we'll see each other again. Don't worry so much, Dreamer, you always worry."

"I have to, ma'am." Her face scrunched up in friendly irritation over the title, as he intended. "You and the general never seem to worry about anything. One of us has to."

"Well, then, I'm not worried that you'll come back," she said. "And by then, I'll be a knight."

"And I'll be congratulating you," he promised her. "Just try to safe until I come back, eh, Padawan?"

"You know I can't promise that."

"I know. Good luck."

"And you, Dreamer."

She gave a short nod, then strode off to the entrance of the temple. They took a moment to watch the curious Twi'lek go, but then they turned back to the business of getting Dreamer off the world.

The clones looked at each other, then their helmets turned back to the sergeant. He could feel their dubious gazes, well aware what they were feeling. It was something all the clones seemed to share, an almost superhuman empathy for one another.

"Padawan?" the corporal asked. "Not 'Commander', Sergeant?"

"Get deployed with the Jedi one day, brother," Dreamer said. "Trust me, you'll understand, then."


	24. Chapter 24

**Kurik Otela – Coruscant**

The underworld of Coruscant was a grisly sight to behold.

In the darkening of the sun, a canyon of neon signs and shifty thugs became a world in stark contrast to the blinding spires and civilized serenity of the top stories.

Down at the lowest levels, however, it was little more than a scrum for the lowest of lowlives, from the most common of thieves to the savviest assassins. Kurik had seen plenty of locales fall to its criminal underworld, but he'd never expected to find one so well-developed on the underside of the Republic's center.

He stayed close to the Jedi Knight and the clones, determined to remain with those whose mere existence struck a fear in the criminals steering very clear of them on the crowded streets. Only those who were part of the daily bustle—workers, those in the service industry, and soldiers off-duty—dared to pass close to the Jedi and the clones, seeking some fleeting safety in the presence of the moving military unit.

They'd received a tip from some scavenger that General Durel knew, a fearful and twitchy little Rodian who'd seen fit to launch them at a club some distance away. The clones had been sure to strong-arm the alien informant, reminding him that if they didn't find anyone at the club, they'd be quick to revisit.

It was all a familiar dance to Kurik, who'd seen the tactics employed by those with a much lower reputation than the clones. It was only jarring that it came from the upstanding soldiers, who'd seen little problem in muscling the thugs.

Perhaps it was just a rosy-eyed view that had developed from seeing the clones and the Jedi only in combat. They'd seemed like paragons of all that was just and true, a near-sickening perfection that had seen Kurik want to gag. It gave him some perverse pleasure to see them dragged down to the same ethical plains as the rest of the galaxy.

At least, that was his thoughts on the clones. With General Durel, however, he found himself strangely disappointed. He was just glad that Dreamer wasn't there to fall in his metaphorical eyes.

"Alright, this is the place," Tank said, looking up at the Jedi Knight. "How should we go about this?"

The club was a dingy little place, the kind of squat establishment built entirely of smokey dark rooms that allowed its patrons the privacy they desired to conduct all manner of illegalities. It wasn't the kind of place Kurik would take much of a liking to, but it was exactly where he would go if he was looking for a job.

"Hm." The pilot saw a small wisp of blue peel off from the Jedi Knight and extend toward the bar before he started rubbing his thumb against the hilt at his hip. "Desperation, anger, fear...not a lot of confidence in there. If we walk in, somebody's going to run. Someone who has something to fear from us, I would think."

"You walk in there, General, they may all just scatter. You're authority, they're almost certainly criminals to a man."

"Fair point." His gaze turned to Kurik, and the pilot knew what his answer would be before he even spoke it. "You, on the other hand, this is your domain."

"He's not, but I am," Dilt replied. "Come on, kid. Let's show these Republic types how the rest of the galaxy actually works. Rest of you, we'll flush him out. You'll need to ring this place so we can catch him."

"I've got your back," Kurik said, a needless assurance that he was ready.

The interior was exactly as dubious as the ramshackle construction outside had implied. The air reeked of stale smoke, while every piece of what could charitably be described as 'furniture' looked worn in and filthy. The lights were dimmed—as was to be expected—while the only bright points in the room were the bar and the cantina band in the corner playing a song he'd never heard before but still managed to sound altogether familiar.

The patrons were no less undistinguished than their surroundings, each of them rendered a mere shadow by the lack of light, a shadow all the more swirling in his vision. Yet each one seemed nonetheless familiar to him.

After all, he'd been to this kind of place before. On world after world, every cantina and bar seemed to look the same. He paid none of the patrons any mind, instead following his captain as he took a seat up at the bar. Instead of sitting directly next to him, he took a seat at an unoccupied table, to create a passing appearance that they weren't particularly together.

And within five seconds, Dilt spoke.

"Got him," he said, nodding over to a table in the corner.

Sabacc was the game being played, and Kurik saw the contours of a Weequay. The gnarled, twisted alien was cursing quietly, hand playing across the butt of his blaster at uneven iterations.

"How do you know it's him?" Kurik asked.

"He's armed heavier than anyone else in here. Look at him, that's way too much equipment for just hunting a bounty, smuggling, or a mercenary showing off. He's getting ready for something big. Come on, kid. Watch me work."

It would be a boring event, that much Kurik knew. Among other things, Dilt was a masterful sabacc player, one whose luck was only matched by his dishonesty.

Ingratiating himself to the other three players was no grand feat. After all, despite the suspicions and paranoia endemic to such an establishment, every amateur gambler welcomed a chance to make more money at a table.

Especially someone that Dilt had pegged as being deep in the hole.

From there, it was almost a methodical dance. The cards were familiar, and Dilt's plays even more so. The talk continued, and Kurik simply sipped at an empty cup, pretending to be occupied as he kept an eye on the proceedings.

The captain had robbed two of the gamblers of their credits within minutes, and the other two looked disgusted by his run of cards. He was in the middle of a run, the other opponent folding, when he looked up at the Weequay and spoke.

"Hit me." Another card, and Dilt grinned up at their partner across the table. "Bad luck you've been having, my friend."

"That's twenty-two," the momentary dealer said. "I've only got twenty-one. The Devaronian captain wins."

The pirate grumbled something mutinous, and a small credit stick was pushed Dilt's way. The captain grinned, pulled the tiny device to his side of the table, then looked back down. By now, dozens of shady types had gathered around the table, a dark mass that left the Miralukan's hand close to his blaster.

"So," Dilt said, another pair of cards coming to his hand. "You seem pretty unsteady. Got business tonight?"

"What does it matter to you?"

"I'm a smuggler, see. Most everything in the galaxy needs to get from one place to another. Whether that be goods or people, whether it be an escape or an infiltration, my services are often in high demand. So I wonder, whatever you're doing, you need a hand?"

"No."

"You sure? Might even give back one of these credit chips." That brought a pause to the gambler, who glanced up at Dilt over his hand. "After all, you're running out of cash, and it's making you nervous."

"What do you mean?"

"Either this isn't your money, or you need it for something soon. I'm betting the former. Me and the kid here need work and I'm given to the suspicion that you're..." He trailed off, craned his head up at Kurik, then looked back down. "Working on something big. Something...definitely not in the interest of the Republic."

A narrowing of the eyes, a snarl, and Dilt's eyes grew wide from some unseen signal given by his partner.

The cry of a blaster was all too distinct, a sound that cut through any lethargy Kurik might've felt from the familiar noise and tedium of seeing his captain winning a game of cards once again. Dilt stiffened, a smoking hole in his chest, then he toppled from his chair.

Kurik managed to get both hands under his captain as the thug who'd shot him dashed for the door. All around, the music carried on, and the patrons didn't seem to even mind that one of their own died on the floor.

As always, the shady underworld in which the two inhabited lived on with or without their involvement.

"Shot in a game of cards." A cough, followed by a spurt of blood from the wound. "Were there ever a nobler way for a scoundrel to go."

"Dilt!"

"Hey, it's alright, kid," he said, voice growing faint. "Take the ship. Get out of this life, understand? Find something..."

Whatever temerity drove his last wind collapsed, the life fleeing from his eyes as his muscles slackened and drove the full weight of the captain into Kurik's arms. After ten years together, the rascally Devaronian had finally met his end.

Theirs was a fleeting life, often riven with sudden death or constantly shifting alliances. But Dilt had given Kurik much, more than he ever had to, and it left the Miralukan hollow at the dead man in his arms. A sweeping wave of emotions fought one another for supremacy so they could escape his throat.

As it often had in such cases, a dogged want for revenge won the scrap. He'd have plenty of time to see to the captain's body and mourn him. For now, though, his killer was getting away.

Kurik wiped away the tears, grabbed the captain under his shoulders, and dragged him toward the back of the bar. Once he found the door, he shoved it open with the Force, leaving his hands free to continue pulling Dilt along.

It was already a mess outside. One of the clones was down, as were a trio of civilians. Jedi Master Durel was missing, but Tank was attending to the injured. At Kurik's exit, he looked up.

"Dammit," the clone said. "He got Dilt, too?" Kurik nodded. "Dammit. Alright, General Durel is tracking our escaped thug. Let's finish up with the wounded here, get a team sent to pick them up, then we'll give chase. In the meantime, help Hot-Round with that one, will you?"

The captain pointed to one of the civilians, where a lone trooper was having some trouble with the thrashing man.

"Y—Yeah," Kurik said.

He rushed over to attend to the civilian, wrestling him down with both muscle and the Force. The clone started to apply a wrapping, until Tank called for him, leaving Kurik alone to finish the process.

Once he'd finished bandaging and sedating the older man, he looked up from his task for more guidance from the ranking member of their group.

Kurik saw someone speaking to the clones, some robed figure. He couldn't see much more, too busy trying to tend to the wounded civilian. Once he was done, however, he looked up from his palm and to his fellow clones.

"Timetable's been moved up," Tank muttered to his fellow brothers. "We take them out first, then follow our orders."

Kurik wanted to ask what they meant, wanted to ask for explanations, but Tank always knew what he was doing. If there was something the pilot needed to be filled in on, he'd tell him. As he pulled shut the last wound, though, one of the clones approached from behind.

"Maybe you should take that one to medical, Kurik." The pilot flinched at hearing Raze calling him by his first name. He looked up to see Tank watching. "There should be a civilian clinic a block down from here. With what happened to your captain, maybe you should get out of the way on this one."

Kurik didn't think twice.

"No," he said. "No, the police can handle this one. I want to help bring this one in."

"As you wish."

And as he walked away, Kurik realized there was something uncomfortably ominous in the clone trooper's tone. He wasn't sure what it was, but he didn't like it, and it served to worry him even more than Dilt's death had.

So he made sure his blaster was loose in its holster. Just in case.


	25. Chapter 25

**Padawan Neria Halai – Coruscant**

Three tests.

 _It'll be easy,_ Neria told herself. _It'll be easy. Just three, I can hold it together for that long. I just wish I wasn't so sore._

In truth, the Twi'lek padawan had recovered well enough since landing that she could handle whatever lay ahead, but she worried over the potential weakness that would lie ahead once the trials were over.

At least she was getting the abbreviated version of the trials. A padawan who had never been tested in the field or across the galaxy would go through far more extensive trials, while those who had gone far above and beyond could skip the trials entirely—Skywalker came to her mind.

She'd struck the median, as ever. Three trials, consisting of Force application, facing down the dark side, and combat. The first two would be a greater a challenge than the third, at least as far as she could imagine.

A cloying breath was her final indulgence before she descended the stone stairs and into the first chamber.

Sand covered the floor, a mechanically-generated fog permeating the entire chamber. A second level had been built midway up the wide room, a number of columns supporting its weight.

"Welcome, Padawan Halai."

Neria recognized the knight's voice, though she'd only interacted with him on occasion. A newer one, if she recalled correctly.

"So," she said, smiling. "You're to be a part of my trial?

"No. _We_ are."

Her smile faded as dozens of young humans appeared from behind the pillars in the room, and the rushing of water may as well have turned to a roar in the tension that suddenly settled in between them. She tried to reach out to find which one was real, but they all shimmered with the Force.

"It's illusions, then?" she asked, pulling her other saber from her belt. "Clever."

"One of us is real." The voices of the illusions joined him, their voices creating a one-tone chorus that echoed through the chamber. "Tell me, Padawan Halai, how will you figure out which one?"

Figuring that he wanted a verbal answer, she decided to respond. "Well, you're not all—"

As one, they leaped at her, leaving Neria scrambling for an answer. Instead of trying to summon a response from midair, she instead dove left, the only direction where she only had one of the knight to contend with. She rolled under his blade, then came back up to find them all advancing swiftly on her location.

Loose rocks, flame, water, sand, there were plenty of resources at her disposal. The latter especially caught her interest, and she dropped a saber to scoop some sand from the floor. She waited for them to close, then threw it.

The Force flowed through her as she released the sand from her grasp, directing the handful in a wave dispersed far enough to cover the crowd. Only one out of the knights raised his arm to block his eyes from the damaging granules.

Neria flung herself at the real knight, summoning her other weapon to her hand to join the blue blaze of its companion.

The padawan telegraphed her blow clearly enough. Admittedly, it was her first time running through the trials, but she suspected that killing fellow Jedi would be frowned upon.

He blocked her easily, shoved a hand out before her second weapon could come to hand, and pushed her away with a blast of the Force. She was thrown right back the way she came in a cloud of sand.

Neria landed on her feet, if unsteadily, and the spare lightsaber completed its journey to her hand. Once the obfuscating cloud had subsided, the knight was gone.

"Good." The echoes again, an irritating choir in the darkness of the chamber. "But that trick won't work twice. And I won't hesitate, this time."

What he meant became all too clear when she felt him descending from the upper tier behind her. She rolled forward and out of the way, finding a trio of the knights in front of her.

They descended upon Neria too quickly for her to formulate a response other than to defened herself. The first two swung high, the third tried to spear her. She kept one weapon up high to block, then pirouetted around the other.

She spun back around and pushed a hand out, directing a wave of energy through the limb. The knight on the left didn't respond to the push.

That was one down.

The illusion was still an irritant as she fought the other two, both of their weapons squealing in defiance as they met her blades. The one she'd ruled out was a distraction, the flash of its saber continually confounded her.

Neria kicked out at the second, made contact, and shoved the real knight back. She moved to attack, then he abruptly powered his weapons down. She followed suit, as was traditional.

"Well done," he told her. "There will be no fight here. You will move on to the next room."

The padawan inclined her head. "Thank you."

He stepped aside, and she moved forward to a door that slid open at the other end. Without windows to see inside, she wondered how her progress was being judged. She passed through a short corridor, then was on to the second chamber.

Stalactites, darkness pierced only by the harsh red glow of crystals all around. The floor was littered with black granules of sand, triangular crimson structures all around.

Oppression pressed down upon her, smothering and stifling. The twisting darkness was suffocating, the tendrils of the dark side sinking into her gut and turning it. A gentle disquiet took hold of her, threatening to unbalance her.

It was an easy guess as to what the purpose of the room was. The second challenge sought to test her emotions, to see her conquer the darkness.

So she took a seat, crossing her legs, and descended into a deep meditation. She was ready for the dark side.

The power was a small thing at first, but such was its nature. The dark side was a quiet whisper, not a loud demand. It persuaded, it didn't command. By comparison, the light side was a triumphant cry of power, a blunt force of will.

It slowly built, and eventually, heat built inside her as anger rose up, a rage that could only be quelled by great effort. It was something she had only felt once before, the childish vexation at learning she'd had parent she'd been torn from.

Yet the great effort that the anger demanded was her singular purpose. The trials challenged every Jedi who sought to conquer it, and she would be no different.

Meditation was he bulwark against the opposition, a calm center than refused to be move even under the debilitating weight of that rage. It demanded she move, and she didn't. It demanded that she cry in outrage at how often she'd been dismissed or marginalized, and she didn't.

It demanded her subservience, and she wouldn't even entertain the idea.

Eventually it receded, and Neria was left calm. But it wasn't over, that much she knew.

The padawan was proven right a moment later, the overwhelming despair sudden and crushing. She remembered the feeling of being rejected by her first two teachers after years under their tutelage, of the deaths she'd seen on the battlefield.

But they were emotions that she'd already reconciled. They passed, quicker than the anger had. Jealousy was even more fleeting, foreign to a girl who had everything she could want but for the title she was currently striving for. A stroke of passion, quickly transversed, was next.

The sudden swelling of pride wasn't unanticipated, but she never would've guessed that it would affect her so greatly.

Thoughts came of how much she'd been overlooked through the years, excelling past her peers in her combat skill while watching them all move on past her. Memories of how her former masters grown frustrated with her, given up on her, and how the council had barely afforded her for one more chance.

Such neglect had continued on even when she'd finally had some achievements to claim as her own, when she'd turned the tide of a battle on Geonosis and defeated an assassin. Tank, Dreamer, they'd attempted to remind her that she'd done more than she was being given credit for, but it had hurt all the same.

It wasn't fair to her, that she'd had such a run of bad luck, a run well beneath her dignity.

Response came in the former of quiet reminders that the council had seen fit to reward her with the trial, that the years hadn't been wasted. After all, had they not recognized Neria's commitment and her training and seen the progress she'd made, she would've been subjected to the full, long battery of tests that normal padawan were burdened with.

The falsely-engineered pride began to fade, a last sting that coincidentally found her ashamed that her greatest challenge so far had been her own pride. When no more came, she started to ascend from the tranquil state she'd struggled to maintain.

Her efforts to banish the barrage of dark side energy and its effects was a victory that came with cost. Weariness had come to her, a condition more emotional and mental than physical. Sweat had begun to trickle down her back, and the robes she wore started to feel heavy on her shoulders.

Neria suspected it to be a state exacerbated by the ambient energy of the dark side in the room. She needed to get out as soon as possible.

The door slid open, and she made haste for the blissful refuge of the hallway beyond. Once it slid shut behind the padawan, leaving her without the pursuit of the dark side, she felt a lightness come to her heart. The twisting sickness that had infected her stomach fled, and the weariness abated—though not completely.

The trial had drained her more than she thought it would, fighting off the emotional battery a struggle she'd been unprepared for. Once she'd collected herself, aware that she couldn't take too long in the stretches between the chambers, she moved on.

The last room was bare of any tricks or traps that she could see. Whatever waited for her, it seemed as though it would be simple, straightforward. She ran through the sparse mental list of what the trials consisted of. She'd already dealt with her application of the force in her first trial and combating the tide of negative emotions in the second.

 _And that leaves combat._

It was the only part of her training that she'd excelled in, even as she'd lagged in every other area. The first test had been a trial of wits, and the second had been unexpectedly difficult. She could only hope that the final trial would be easier.

Neria activated her lightsabers, awaiting whatever training droids would test her.

A small pillar of green light activated in the corner, its soft glow illuminating the unusually rigid face of Master Shaak-Ti. In the bareness between them, the power she was about to face was all too clear, a veritable maelstrom of energy that she couldn't hope to match.

And Neria had thought it would be straightforward.

No words were spoken. She knew what she had to do, shifting into a defensive position.

Master Shaak-Ti darted forward, lightsaber little more than a blur. Neria was barely able to block it, weapons sweeping to the side to block her. The counterattack was a kick to her stomach in an attempt to drive the wind out of her, but the Jedi Master shoved her away with a wave of energy that left the padawan dizzy.

The master descended again, thrusting in. Neria twisted to the side, swinging to try to catch the Jedi Master in the head, certain it would caught by her.

And she was wrong, the Jedi Master ducking the blow and shoving her away with the Force once again.

"Very good," she said, serenity slackening her features. "Now we really begin."

 **We're starting to close in on the end of this first third of the story. Let me know what you all think so far, thanks.**


	26. Chapter 26

**CT-1552 –** ** _Alderaan's Crest_**

The vessel was little more than a corvette, a strange choice to travel as far as Kamino. Dreamer supposed that with the fleets pressing the final attack on General Grievous and repelling a renewed wave of Separatists, transport was a secondary concern for the Republic Navy.

That was what he thought, anyways, then he met the senator they were carrying with them in the hangar.

She was tall, a gaze that could be withering, warm, or shrewd traversing the dozen guards she'd brought with her. The robes she wore spoke well enough of her station, the kind that would set him back a few months had he tried to purchase it.

"Good evening, Sergeant," she said when he approached. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing, Senator Mothma. The captain was wondering if you need anything."

"I'm well, thank you, I—"

"Senator Mothma, a call for you."

"I'll take it in my room, thank you."

As she started to leave, Dreamer got a call on his own transmitter. He held it up, hit the button to receive, and was met by yet another robed figure. This one was unknown to him, a sinister-looking man whose very presence turned his stomach.

"Execute Order Sixty-Six."

It was as if recalling a memory that had laid dormant for years. He'd never heard the words before, but he just _knew_ what they were. The Jedi and any traitors to the Republic were to be executed immediately. Senator Amidala, Senator Organa, Senator Mothma, all who'd been marked as targets to be eliminated before they could return to the public eye.

All at once it happened. Some strange sensation in his head, then an explosion of stars as the pain came back.

The clone doubled over, hands on his temples and crying out as the agony hit him like it never had before. He heard blaster fire, saw the senator's guards fall around her, then the remnants fell into position.

A hand grabbed onto him, pulled him to safety behind some crates.

"Brother?!"

It was the same word, the same voice, but it all sounded wrong. It was an affectation uttered by murderers, not the heroic and driven comrades he'd spent all his life alongside. Even the agonized throes that roiled him couldn't mask the notes of their treachery, couldn't begin to explain away their lack of honor.

They may have had the same voice, but they had suddenly become an enemy.

Dreamer wanted to hate them, but it hadn't slipped past him that their orders had provoked the most vicious pain yet from his brain. He didn't know what had been done to him—What had been done to all of them—but he had to wonder if they had any choice in their action, if some part of their minds would be forced to watch from the sidelines as they gunned down comrades they'd spent years protecting or fighting alongside with.

Thoughts came to his mind of Coruscant, of the Jedi he'd left behind. Even past the pain, he could see their faces. They'd need help. They'd need him.

The agony was a throbbing constant threatening to overwhelm his higher cognitive functions. Yet he managed to will it away—if temporarily. The comrades he'd left behind in the Republic's capital, friends, those that they'd always trusted would take a shot at them.

And no matter how strong they were, few were ever prepared for betrayal of that magnitude.

He made his choice, disquieting as it was.

A half-dozen clones, not normally enough to take on a senator's guards, but they had the element of surprise working in their favor. Similarly, none of them were paying attention to Dreamer, who sat behind their lines.

Three were dispatched with ease, Dreamer given a clear shot with his dual pistols. Another was winged before they returned fire, as shocked as he was that one of their own had turned on them. He was able to lurch behind cover in time. None of them were ARC Troopers, and he'd had as much experience as the average elite clone.

His actions had served to flush the remaining three out, though, allowing the senator's guard to do the rest.

"Barricade the door!" one of them cried. "Someone attend to that clone!"

Dreamer heard the rushing of feet around him, demands to put down his weapons, but he was still steeped in a pained haze.

"Sergeant!" The severe voice cut through it all. "Sergeant, listen to me! What's happening?"

He looked up at the senator, her eyes filled with panic and trepidation.

"Order Sixty-Six," Dreamer said, forcing the words out between his teeth. "They're going to destroy the temple. They're going to kill enemies of the Republic." He looked up at her. "You."

That declaration did little to calm her guard, all of whom raised their weapons toward him.

"Stop," she ordered them. "Why didn't you turn?"

"Some trigger," he told her. "It was supposed to take me. I never thought the pain would be a good thing. Whatever is in there misfired."

"We need to take the ship," she said. "Sergeant, will you fight with us?"

"I...I'll go to the cockpit. The rest of your guard should punch down to the engines, barricade themselves inside..."

"And cause a distraction," one of the guards said. "From the cockpit, you should be able to space everything."

"Yes."

The disgust with which he answered didn't go unnoticed by anyone, especially the senator. Her piercing eyes turned sympathetic, her head cocked in curiosity.

"Alright," she replied. "It's a good plan." The senator turned to her guard. "Men, we're going to move fast! We must break out of here and take the engine room. Hurry now, with me!"

She said no more to Dreamer. They wouldn't have a lot of time, his brothers would know there was something wrong in moments, then they'd mass around the hangar and make escape impossible.

Playing dead was easy enough for him, listening to the boots stomp past the hangar. He knew operating procedure, his brothers wouldn't be concerning themselves with downed clones when there was still an active mission running away from them.

Once they were past, he lumbered out into the hallway. Listening to the sounds of distant battle as he jogged to the cockpit, the agony in his head fading from the forefront as adrenaline took over.

Little resistance was present on his quick journey to the cockpit, and none of the three clones he passed tried to stop him. He didn't know what kind of excuse he could come up with to explain why he was running away from the fight, but they all seemed too preoccupied to care.

"Sergeant."

Dreamer backed up against a corner upon hearing the senator speak. He glanced out to find the corridors clear, and he set his transmitter to send.

"This is Dreamer," he replied. "Senator, are you safe?"

"Not exactly." Blaster fire was audible in the background of her transmission, making her predicament clear enough. "We're here, though. We've managed to barricade the engine room, we're just waiting on your end. Are you almost there?"

"I am," he told her. "Three up front, guarding the bridge. I should be able to get close, and that'll be all I need."

"Understood. Thank you, Sergeant."

He didn't respond, dropping the transmitter from his helmet and instead gazing out at the small barricade ahead, meant to stymie the senator and her guards.

He swung out from the corner, jogging in their direction and waving an arm. The frantic movement attracted their attention, but thankfully, nobody reached for their weapons.

"Brothers!" He noticed one of them was the young clone he'd been on the landing pad with before departing. "Brothers, a few are coming this way!"

"Understood," the oldest of their number said. "We could use your help, Ser—"

A bolt to the head, and he said no more. Dreamer turned to the other side to find the pair scrambling for their weapons. He managed to shoot the first one, then the youngest of them abandoned the attempt to get to his carbine and threw himself at Dreamer.

The sergeant swung across, catching the clone in the side of his helmet, but he wasn't giving up that easily. Recently out of the tank and training, he was still younger and stronger than Dreamer.

What he didn't have was experience. He hadn't fought hand to hand with a wide array of sympathetic Separatist factions, he hadn't been forced to wrestle down a battle droid, he hadn't trained with Jedi who had an uncanny knack for martial arts.

Dreamer had.

So when the young clone artlessly tried to force him down with sheer muscle, Dreamer twisted at the hips, a leg planted forward in order to trip the young clone. He tumbled forward, but he got lucky and managed to snag Dreamer's calf, sending the sergeant to the ground with him.

A blow to his head only served to amplify the ache in his head, but he managed to pull back from the following swing. He jumped on the clone, pulling his head into a lock. He couldn't properly leverage the hold into anything effective from his angle, but he managed to fall backward, stretching the young man out and robbing him of any proper stance.

His eyes moved to a pistol that had landed nearby. He snagged it from the ground, pressed it to his fellow clone's stomach, and pulled the trigger three times. The young man jumped with each pull, and he went limp by the time the third bolt had cut into his innards.

Dreamer was left to recover on his own, breathing heavily in the aftermath of a struggle brief but fierce. The pain in his head was joined by an aching at his ribs. Something had probably broken I n the fight, but he told himself that it was alright. All he needed to do now was invade the bridge, and that was likely to be run with a skeleton crew of clones who hadn't been trained in combat.

He opened the door to find that he was correct. Two clones at the controls at the very end, dressed in the mild uniform of pilots and engineers. They were watching the door, waiting for some sign of what had gone on in the corridor beyond, and relief relaxed them as they saw a fellow clone walk in.

That relief dissipated when he aimed one of his pistols at the first pilot. The clone didn't even get a moment to speak, the bolt cutting into his chest and the superheated gas killing him instantly. Dreamer turned his weapon on the second, who had backed up against the controls.

"Brother, what—"

A single shot was all it took. Simple, quick, and painless.

Yet when the final clone dropped from the pilot's seat, Dreamer felt dirty. A disquieting sickness was coursing through him, and it wasn't just the omnipresent throb of his head.

He'd killed his brothers. He was a murderer, a traitor, and all the self-justification in the galaxy wasn't helping to square his guilt. Through pain and hatred of self, Dreamer kept his thoughts fixated on the war-tested Zabrak, his fiery padawan, and the mild pilot who was but centimeters from finding himself in the darkest reaches of the galaxy.

Dreamer couldn't bring back the clones he'd so uneasily disposed of, but he could at least pull those he'd left behind out of the fire.

It was a quick cycling of the corvette, spacing every area but the engine room and the cockpit. He tried not to think of how many of his brothers he'd just doomed, instead going through the motions of restoring the atmosphere to the ship.

Then he turned the vessel around, putting it right back into hyperspace. Minutes later, he was interrupted from his flight.

"What is going on in here?"

He turned to the glare of the senator whom he'd forgotten about in the guilty haze of battle and the pain.

"S—Sorry, Senator," Dreamer said. "I...There are some friends I left on Coruscant. Jedi and Force-users. They'll be dead without help."

The senator stared at him overlong, her piercing gaze weighing, perhaps wondering if the only clone who hadn't turned against them had gone mad anyways. Then she turned to the corridor beyond.

"Then go about your business, Sergeant. I'll be in my room, I have some calls to make."

"Thank you, Senator."


	27. Chapter 27

**Kurik Otela – Coruscant**

"Alright," Knight Durel said, standing outside a circular grate. "This is where we saw him enter."

"The sewer?"

Tank's tone was about the same as Kurik was feeling. He was angry enough about Dilt, even if he'd managed to stuff the rage and sorrow down, and just staring at the grate was managing to bring that anger back.

"I know," Gebb-Ti said. "But we must."

Tank stared at the Bothan, then gave General Durel a nod. Kurik fell in at the rear of the formation, unaddressed and unnoticed by all.

In the guts of the undercity, the noise of the crowd was a dull, muted roar. The clamor helped hide their footsteps, keeping them undetected by whatever lay beyond.

 _Unless, of course, they realized we were after them._

"Did anyone see you?" Kurik asked.

"No, I...Where's the captain?" Corporal Gebb-Ti asked.

"Got shot by our runner," Tank said. "Poor guy. No great man, but at least he was decent in a fight."

"Sorry, Kurik." Even as he spoke, the Jedi's eyes were searching ahead. "He was a good man, but a smuggler's standards. If I...Stop."

The command immediately halted them all, and Kurik felt them before he saw them. His unnatural senses, now heightened by his rage. If he listened closely, he could just hear their voices carrying under the rumble of the noise overhead.

Kurik found the forms of the conspirators before they entered everyone's view, but they were close enough that he didn't even have time to make much of them before the group crept into the meeting room.

One of the forms in particular caught his interest.

He was stunned to find the Mandalorian at the head of their little pack, seemingly unconcerned that he'd only lost everything below one of his elbows just a week ago. The soldier's presence shocked Kurik as it implied a greater conspiracy at work, that the same man who'd somehow been capturing vessels outside Coruscant was now in a shadowy operation against the Jedi.

The room itself was little more than a chamber larger than most the rooms in the sewer. Weapon crates, furniture, the conspirators had set up something of an operation center in defiance of the stifling smell of the place. None of them seemed surprised that a force had shown up at their door, and their leader spoke quickly.

"Ah, here they are now," the Mandalorian said, lifting his weapon toward the Jedi. "Knight Durel, an op—"

"Tank," Durel said.

No more words were spoken. Kurik supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, Durel seemed to have little patience for monologue or flair. His lightsaber was out even before the Mandalorian pulled the trigger, and the clones were right behind him, opening up on the group of conspirators.

Kurik dashed behind cover, finding a durasteel crate nearby that had likely housed the weapons the conspirators were using. It provided a good shield for the pilot, who twisted over it and held his weapon up, firing at a nearby Togrutan with his weapon up toward Durel.

The Jedi Knight didn't seem to need the help, deflecting every bolt right back to its owner. The dual-bladed weapon flashed angrily, as if outraged by the weapons being discharged in its direction. The clones cut down four of the ten before everyone managed to find something to get behind.

 _An easy battle,_ Kurik thought to himself. _Perhaps I won't even need to get involved any longer._

Then Tank turned his carbine on Knight Durel.

The Jedi seemed to sense it coming, spinning around with his blade out to deflect the first bolt right back at Tank. The clone fell away, a hole in his shoulder, then the rest of the clones abruptly opened up on the Jedi.

Two, three, four hit the ground, dead, but the Jedi Knight couldn't last forever against so many. A bolt caught him in the back, and he stumbled forward before thrusting a hand out and shoving the clone over the edge.

Kurik shook himself out of his daze, unsure what was happening but certain that there was nothing that Durel had done to provoke it. He grabbed at the heavy pistol, lifted it toward the clones, and said a silent prayer before opening fire.

He caught a clone in the back, and then they turned to him. Yet a few of the conspirators were still alive, and as another shot brought Durel crashing to the ground, the confused enemy turned their guns on the clones.

Gebb-Ti was right behind, the little Bothan pulling out of his stunned stupor and opening fire on the clones as well.

Yet, even though the clones were being fired upon from two sides, there were still just enough to form a defensive position and return fire. The conspirators didn't exactly shrink back, but they did scatter further down the room, leaving them even harder to shoot.

Kurik ducked down behind his durasteel crate, Gebb-Ti right next to him. The little Bothan grabbed something up from his belt and lobbed it toward a pocket of three clones.

One of them picked the grenade up and tried to throw it back, but Kurik had already prepared for the counter. He held a hand out, directing his will toward the explosive, just as Knight Durel had showed him.

The grenade was forced right back at the clones, and Kurik ducked as the explosion rocked the chamber, shrapnel launched over the top of the crate. The fire stopped, and the Miralukan pilot glanced over his cover, Gebb-Ti right behind him.

A fist caught the underside of the Bothan's jaw, knocking him flat to the ground. Kurik tried to angle his weapon down, only for the aggressor to grab him by his arm and pull him over with a cry of agony.

Tank stood above him, the ARC trooper none too happy about the smoking hole in his side. He swatted aside Kurik's other hand, trying to wrestle the gun from the pilot's grasp. Kurik wouldn't let him have it, but Tank seemed to decide for a much more agonizing option.

A gloved hand went to Kurik's throat, squeezing hard enough that pressure began to build in Kurik's head and the grey swirls were joined by black dots.

The clone was interrupted when a bright beam of energy burst through his chest. His head cocked to the side, as if merely amused by the lightsaber. Then he fell off of it, crashing to the ground with a clattering of armor.

Jedi Knight Durel stood behind him, wavering uncertainly on his feet. Then he, too, collapsed, curled up on his side next to the mercenary.

"Durel? Durel!"

Kurik flopped back over onto his front, crawling over to the Jedi to find him still breathing. The smoking wounds seeped blood with each breath, his eyes finding the Miralukan. A shaky smile came to his face, and he gestured toward Tank.

"Should've known," he said. "He always did want to see who was better."

"That's not funny, Durel," Kurik said. "Why did they shoot you?"

"Don't know." His lips dragged down into a ghoulish frown, blood pooling at the corner of his lips. "I can feel it, though, all over the galaxy. They're dying, my brothers and sisters. The Force, it howls and cries, it hurts. Can't you feel it?"

As the adrenaline started to fade, Kurik began to realize what he meant. The Force had always been within him, he'd always paid distant witness to its moods and whimsies. Now it shrieked, writhing and twisting as the light was ripped from it.

And such a sudden transition could only mean one thing. Durel had been right, he wasn't the only Jedi being abruptly and remorselessly executed.

"It hurts," the smuggler agreed quietly. "It really does hurt."

"Ugh...What happened?" came a voice from the other side of the box.

"Gebb-Ti, help me with Master Durel!"

"Go, Kurik," he commanded. "Go, get away from this place. If anyone knows that you know, they'll kill you too."

"Don't worry, I'll get you back to the ship and—"

"No," Durel said. "No, I'll be dead long before you get me there, and no medical help is coming. Take my saber, then go."

"Your saber?"

"A last bit of help," he replied, breath coming out in quiet wheezes. "A good backup weapon. Now go. More clones will soon come, and they won't take you prisoner."

"Okay." Kurik bent down and detached the Jedi's weapon from his side. "Alright, but how will you fend them off?"

The Jedi Knight's hand went to the belt of one of the troopers, to a thermal detonator hanging from the leather. A grenade powerful enough to bring the entire room down around them. It'd kill a lot of people, some of whom had nothing to do with the sudden betrayal. Perhaps, at the end of things, the Jedi no longer cared.

"I'll manage. Quickly, now."

Durel didn't have to tell him again. Content that the Jedi was as close to at peace as he'd get, Kurik fled the room, practically sprinting through the sewers and to the alluring safety of his ship. Gebb-Ti joined him, the smaller alien barely able to keep up with the Miralukan.

"Did you see the Mandalorian?" he asked.

"I didn't," Kurik told him. "I didn't see him, and I don't care that I didn't see him. We're getting out of here, both of us."

Once he was back out onto the streets, people stared and shrunk back, both for suspicion of his quick flight and the stench of the sewers that still clung stubbornly to him. Gebb-Ti, unsurprisingly, went without notice.

Yet they continued to run, trying to reach the landing pad the ship was perched on.

All along their route, he saw the people of the Republic world confused, scared. Not of him or Gebb-Ti. Their eyes were cast toward the temple, to the massacre that Kurik could feel. The anguish of it twisted within him, threatened to make him retch, but he had to ignore it.

They paused at the sight of a clone patrol trying to evacuate a sector where a 'rogue Jedi' had 'lost his mind' and started killing passersby. The clones saw the odd pair, but either didn't notice them or didn't care.

By the time Kurik reached the ship—his ship—he was gasping for breath, lungs burning and chest heaving.

 _BOOM_

The concussive blast caught his attention as he started to board his vessel. He turned to the city to find a small building crumbling to the ground, the screams of civilians carrying even over the sound of hovercars passing by.

He didn't know whether to be soured by the Jedi's last act, petty as it was. Durel had always been a man who'd seemed someways between the light and dark, a maverick among his own. Perhaps it was no great surprise that he'd given in to his anger at the end.

The sounds of battle at the temple carried over the winds. He could see the blaster fire now, occasionally deflected up into the night sky, hear the cries of Jedi who were cut down. The temple was awash in a hellish red, evidence of the evil that was being conducted at its doorstep.

"This is...This is horrible." Ever hard to shake, Gebb-Ti now sounded frightened as his fists shook at his side. "The Jedi have stood for so long. Is this how it ends for them? Betrayal? Cut down by the very government they were trying to help?"

"That's why you try not to help," Kurik told him. "Smuggler's Law: don't help if you're not getting paid. Otherwise..."

He gestured out to the distant carnage, and the Bothan simply stared.

"You can feel each of them, can't you?" the alien asked.

"Every single one."

And if they didn't leave, his fate would be the same as those in the temple.

They hustled aboard the loading ramp, closing it behind him before striding quickly to the cockpit. He settled down into the chair, momentarily taking in the view of the beautiful city. Considering all of the ugliness he'd seen under its spires and the massacre playing out at the Jedi Temple, the entirety of the glittering capital city was one giant facade.

He'd be content to never see the city again.

"The Outer Rim, Ryloth, Nal Hutta, anything's better than this," he muttered to himself, starting up the ship. "Gebb-Ti, you got anywhere particular to go?"

"Don't know. Don't know what things will be like back home."

"Alright, whatever seedy port is closest."

Kurik just had one quick stop to make, first.

* * *

 **Sorry about the wait; I had midterms, then a few video games happened, but now I'm back on track just in time to almost be finished with this whole part.**


	28. Chapter 28

**Padawan Neria Halai – Coruscant**

Neria had known—as anyone with half a mind should have—that fighting a Jedi Master would be no small feat. Even near-death, Master Shaak-Ti would've been a formidable opponent for anyone. After all, most any master had been through situations that would've required entire platoons to settle.

The padawan had the distinct impression that she was being humored, but then, she'd also come into the test under extenuating circumstances. She'd already been through battle, and she was at least holding her own against the Jedi Master.

For her part, Shaak-Ti had shown little inclination to let up, and it was only when she finally knocked Neria's saber away that she stopped.

"Very good," she said, her light voice somehow immediately soothing. "Very good, indeed."

"But I lost, Master."

"You weren't expected to win, you were expected to hold, which you did for quite some time."

"Oh. I see."

"Don't sound so disappointed." The Togrutan Jedi Master smiled wide. "I have decades of experiences in combat. I would've found it strange had you managed to win."

"So what happens now?" Neria asked.

In answer, Master Shaak-Ti strode forward and palmed the 'braid' of beads that had been threaded between Neria's lekku. The Jedi Master considered them for a moment, then plucked them from her head.

Neria felt somehow lighter, a quiet cry of achievement resounding through her very soul. She couldn't keep the smile from her face, the elation overtaking her. Mast Shaak-Ti didn't try to correct Neria on her emotions, simply allowing the moment to come.

"Thank you, Master," Neria said. "I'd hoped for the whole council, but this is just as well."

"Yes, well, Master Yoda was very insistent that you be sent through immediately. Still, it's immaterial. You are now a Jedi Knight, Neria Halai, and you will..."

Master Shaak-Ti trailed off, a deep frown coming to her face. Neria was momentarily confused by her sudden change of expression.

Then she felt it, too.

The Force had always been a living, breathing entity within her, sometimes joining in her elation or delivering passing moments of sorrow at the death of a peer. Yet now, it was twisting, writhing, screaming in agony. She felt so many distant echos suddenly cut off, so many voices brutally silenced.

They were dying. The Jedi were dying.

"What's happening?" she asked. "Master, what's happening?"

But Shaak-Ti had no answer. How could she?

The sound of blaster fire was suddenly at the gates, muted by distance. Master Shaak-Ti closed her eyes, grimaced, then looked back up at Neria.

"The clones," she said. "They're attacking."

"What should we do?"

"I'll get the younglings, the students," Master Shaak-Ti said. "You round up our prisoners, and I'll head for the exit beneath the temple."

"And where should I go?"

"There are still some transports on the landing pad. Go!"

Neria asked no more questions, dashing from the chamber and into the reception area beyond. The trial had long been her goal, a moment of triumph that she would relish for all her years, but instead it had become the greatest horror she'd ever been subjected to.

Her lungs already desperately searched for oxygen, her shoulders ached, and sweat already gathered from her fight with the Jedi Master, but Neria willed herself forward regardless.

Neria met her first clones a few corridors down. She didn't want to believe that they truly were turned. One of them was wearing a blue shoulder pad. Rickets, she'd known him for two full years as he'd guarded the temple.

But his weapon came up regardless, as did his comrade's.

There was no joy as the newly-anointed Jedi Knight brought her saber around and deflected the bolts right back at their owners. She felt no familiar thrill of battle, no adrenaline that would normally power her movements. All that came to her was woe, a sluggish and insidious feeling that threatened to topple her much like the pair of clone troopers that crashed to the ground with holes in their chests.

Neria bit back the sorrow she was feeling, but it was amplified by another presence. It was dark, enraged, sorrowful, and strangely familiar. Someone far more powerful than she—than even the Togrutan master she'd departed from—was in the temple, and they weren't a servant of the light.

The Twi'lek Jedi Knight picked up her pace, finding the prison cells a few hallways down and past two more clones.

The two Togrutan were inside, visibly worried by the commotion all around them. Neria forgot that for as much as they put on a brave face, neither were even to the level of a padawan yet. They were still young enough to be impressionable, which was Neria's point of attack.

"We need to leave," Neria told the two as they approached the thin orange layer of energy that kept them confined to their cells. "There's a Sith coming, and clones are roaming the halls to kill everything."

"And why should we go with you?" The girl's green eyes flashed, her orange skin flush with anger. "If a Sith truly is in these halls, then we should submit ourselves as apprentices."

"Do you truly think yourselves so important that you will not be cut down with the rest of us? There can only be two, and both are already on the march. If you go to our invader, you will lie dead with the rest of us."

Her brave face fell, as Neria had assumed it would. Her younger brother seemed equally disturbed by the very real possibility that they would be killed not by Neria or a Jedi, but by one of their own.

"And you won't hurt us?"

"What's your name?"

A moment of hesitation, then, "Esha Oken."

"And your brother?"

"Ina," he replied, glancing up at his sister.

"I'm Pad...Jedi Knight Halai. Just promoted today. I know the two of you are scared. You don't know what to do, what's going to happen to you. If you follow me, I can get us to the shuttles outside and out of here."

"I...alright, but I'm in charge."

"No, you're not, and this isn't—"

A pair of clones charged in, but Neria had sensed them moments before in all the chaos. She caught their rounds on both of her sabers and sent them back. The first clone took the hit in the helmet, crumpling immediately, but the second was only winged in the shoulder. He charged forward in an attempt to grapple with her, but she simply speared him through the chest with both weapons, dropping him to the floor.

"Alright," Esha said. "Okay, you're in charge."

Neria released the two, and with no small amount of trepidation, handed them back their lightsabers. They palmed their weapons, and thankfully, they didn't try to turn on Neria. Instead they held them in hand and waited for her to give an order.

"Follow me, and do everything I tell you."

Neria was very quiet as she led the pair through to one of the smaller libraries. The rooms were still blissfully clear, the clones and their leader not quite up that far. Just as she was near to the exit, she was joined again by someone other than the clones.

The door opened at the other end, and a half-dozen younglings came through. Human, Rodian, Tiw'lek, Mirilan, and even a Wookie was in the back.

They must've been a new class, half of them barely up to Neria's waist and none of them with lightsabers. Their faces were covered with soot, and the Wookie was clutching at a wound in his shoulder. The poor trainees seemed terrified, but their eyes fixed on Neria.

"A Knight!" one of them yelled. "Knight! Knight!"

"Keep it down, all of you," Neria hissed, silencing the apprentices. "Come over here, what happened to you?"

"The clones," the Rodian said. "I don't understand, why were they—"

"Don't worry about them," Neria told them. "I'll take care of them and get you to safety. Master Shaak-Ti was supposed to be rounding the students up, where is she?"

"She...She..." The young learner couldn't continue on, sobbing in pain and sorrow.

"I understand," Neria said, her blood going cold. If Shaak-Ti was dead, that left nobody to protect the students. Already, she could feel them fading, sometimes even in groups. "Come on, follow me, I'm going to get you out of here."

They fell in behind her, even as she felt a guilty squirming in her stomach that she couldn't go back. Thankfully, the former dark apprentices didn't make things more difficult, keeping to either of Neria's sides. She reached out quietly to discern their intentions, finding only fear and determination.

They just wanted to get out of there, like her.

What they found on the landing pad, however, stole her breath from her.

There had been transports, that much was clear. The ruined and smoking scrap that lay on the landing pads, however, was far from being able to propel them out of the system.

"Now what do we do?"

"We try for another exit, com—"

Neria felt them before she saw them, the clones failing to sneak up on her as they charged through the open door. Three were in front, and Neria fell back with the children behind her as they opened fire, forcing her across the narrow part of the ramp.

And just when their luck was already atrocious, the roar of engines alerted them to an incoming gunship who'd likely noticed the commotion. They were in luck when the bays didn't open to reveal more troopers, but the pilot still brought the gunship to the side so the skeleton crew could fire the turret from the side.

"You two, deflect that fire!" Neria commanded the two prisoners.

She was trusting that the siblings, though weak, were not so maladroit as to be incapable of warding away enemy fire.

Her tenuous faith was rewarded when they took up a position at the edge. The sister reached out and with her own feeble skills managed to occasionally force away the turret that fired upon them. The brother took up the task of outright deflection, and between the two, they bought some time.

Yet it was all that any of them could do. Even as Neria yanked a clone trooper off the edge of the platform and deflected another bolt away, she knew that as soon as that powerful presence reached her, it would be over.

It tore at her more than anything Neria had ever done. She was a guardian by training, a defender, and she wanted nothing more than to race back into the temple and save every life she could. It was supposed to be her responsibility.

Yet she felt the presence there, approaching through the halls. It was a maelstrom of drak and light, an oppressive presence that drove her back even as he seemed to be some distance away. Worse, she felt no life behind it, no light that had survived its wrath.

Everyone was dead. The children, the instructors, even Masters, and soon even them.

The sudden explosion behind Neria startled her, the Jedi Knight whipping around to see what had disturbed the slow death she was soon to be treated to.

The _Jack of Trades_ appeared in the cloud of smoke and fire it had reduced the hovering gunship to. Its engines were loud, and it was coming in fast. Neria's heart soared to see the ship, and as it neared, she could see a familiar blind pilot behind the glass.

"Siblings, get up here with me!" Neria shouted. "Children, get ready to get on that ship! We need to hurry!"

Neria felt that presence coming, and if it got to them, there would be nothing she could do. It would drive her to her knees with its sheer power.

Luckily, Kurik swept in close and didn't even bother trying to land. The hatch opened up back, and the children rushed to get on. The siblings were next, helping Neria to deflect the fire from the troopers. Already the littered the entrance, six dead and two somewhere far below them in a puddle on the ground.

Then she was on, and she was shouting to the front.

The hatch started to close, and once she'd backed fully into the next room and the bay was sealed shut from the clones, she dashed to the front.

Kurik looked tired, his hands were shaking, and most distressingly, Master Durel's saber rested on his hip. Yet the young man still seemed focused, his lips drawn tightly in concentration.

"Master Durel?"

"No, Pada...Knight Halai."

"Figured as much." Try as she did, she couldn't hide the pain it caused, the blow to a countenance that had already soured immeasurably at the massacre behind them. "Thank you for saving us."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. Just that they're all dead. Everyone in there, so many across the galaxy, and almost us. Would've been us if you hadn't shown up."

"Don't thank me just yet," he told her. "You've ever tried to escape Coruscant before?"

"No."

"Well neither have I, but the clones will have my ship tagged soon. Let's hope we can find some way out of here before the entire fleet blockades our way."


	29. Chapter 29

**CT-1552 –** ** _Alderaan's Crest_**

The clone trooper wasn't sure what to expect when he'd jumped out into Coruscant space. Given the orders he'd been issued, he wouldn't have been surprised if the entire system was in conflict, much less the space surrounding Coruscant.

Yet when the dizzying lights of the stars—their brightness amplified by his throbbing headache—receded, he was treated not to a battle or incapacitated ships, but a strangely serene scenery. The triangular frigates of the Republic merely drifted around the orbital station over the capital. He saw no ships that had stopped in space to fight a battle in their depths.

 _Maker help me,_ Dreamer thought. _They carried it out so well that the Jedi barely put up a fight. How?_

"I thought things would be more chaotic than this," Corporal Looto said. "Have the Jedi truly fallen so easily?"

The young Rodian at Dreamer's side had taken up as a co-pilot, a corporal who'd only been a senate guard for a year, one who'd said he was a standout in his colony's garrison before he'd transferred to the esteemed ranks of the politicians' guardians.

"Perhaps they trusted their fellow brothers-in-arms more than they should have." Dreamer shook his head, disgusted that he'd been forced to say something so heretical. "Hours ago, I would've said that was nonsense."

"But you didn't turn."

"I've got an ache in my skull so bad I think a rampaging Rancor is pounding on the edges trying to escape. I don't know what went wrong with me, but I'd imagine I'm defective."

"Sad to consider your loyalty 'defective', Sergeant."

Dreamer said no more as he noted a small light flashing above their communications display. He knew where it would be from, and it was only with a warning glance to the co-pilot that he flipped a switch to allow transmission.

"This is Colonel Crag," said a clone from the other end. "We have you marked down as Senator Mon Mothma's ship. Confirm."

"I'm afraid that's not quite accurate anymore, sir," Dreamer told him. "My brothers and I executed our initiative to the letter. I'm afraid I'm going to have dock at the station to offload my brothers. I've also been given leave to bring this ship back to its hangar on Coruscant."

"Good man. Orders?"

The very idea that he was considered a 'good man' for the most base of betrayals turned Dreamer's stomach, but he let no indication of his simmering anger filter through to his voice. He had to keep calm if he wanted any chance of helping those on the surface.

"Not strict, sir, but the ship needs to go missing, as I understand it."

"Ah, yes. Very good. We'll send a crew to meet you. Bay Ex-Twelve."

"Yes sir."

As soon as he was finished, he turned back to speak to the co-pilot. Only then did he notice Senator Mon Mothma towering behind them. Her lips were draw in a thin line, as seemed to be standard for her.

"We're boarding?"

"Yes, Senator," Dreamer replied. "You have hatches to hide in, I assume?"

"We do, but if you want to find anything out from the surface about your friends, you won't have the clearance."

The sergeant already knew what she was suggesting, and he already didn't like it.

"That's...quite dangerous, Senator. If they notice the ship downloading information, we'll all be dead."

"We've asked many sacrifices of the Jedi Order over the years," she said, piercing eyes filling with sorrow. "Even before the Clone Wars, we've asked them to take the blows we couldn't ask of our soldiers or police. We've airily asked for them to protect us again and again, and they never asked anything in return. I think now, at the hour of their demise, I can at least do this."

"Understood, ma'am," he said. "I'll set you down in the cockpit. There's a hatch below the chair that you can—"

"I know where it is, Sergeant. You just keep them from discovering my crew."

"Yes ma'am," Dreamer told her, getting up and letting her take his seat. "You shouldn't need to speak anymore, but patch me through if they call."

"I will." He started to leave, but she wasn't finished. "Dreamer?"

"Senator?"

"I find myself quite glad that you're defective."

"Me too, ma'am."

Then he was away, activating his comlink to ensure he could be reached. He still disabled any voice transmission. He'd only get a beep if the senator needed to get in touch with him.

Dreamer hoped that the bodies on both sides would be treated with some respect. The clones were his brothers, and the senate guards had just been doing exactly what they were tasked with. There had been no ideological motivation, simply two people doing their grim duty.

When the ramp lowered, he was treated to a busy hangar. Far from the serene picture outside, several crews were being piled up by the clones. He was confused by their presence until he noted that they were sharing the bay with two Jedi starfighters.

"Sergeant." The voice dragged his gaze away from them and to a PFC waiting with a small team below him. "Permission to come aboard?"

"Of course, Private," he said, stepping aside. "They put up a fight in here and there weren't many of us. I was the only one to make it out."

"You must be pretty good, Sergeant." The PFC passed by, and Dreamer fell in behind him. "For everyone else to be dead, I mean."

"I was offered a position as an ARC Trooper a year ago," he said. "Denied the chance, however. Wanted to keep serving with the Jedi."

He was curious as to what reaction any show of favor toward the peacekeepers would elicit from his brothers, but the PFC simply continued on through the corridors.

They swept through the rooms one at a time, Dreamer's heart pounding in each chamber and his hand always remaining near to his weapon. Most stressful was the bridge, where Mon Mothma was supposed to be operating.

Yet when they stepped inside, nobody stood there. Only a pair of bodies—one clone and one senate guard—were in the cockpit.

"Looks like there wasn't much of a fight in here," the PFC said. "You'd think, considering how much fighting was out there—" He nodded to the hallway outside. "—that they'd put everything they have into this place."

"You clearly haven't seen much of the frontlines, Private." Dreamer noticed the monitor processing in front of him, and he slipped around to sit on the dashboard. "They weren't expecting us to get past the guys out there."

"Suppose that's true," he muttered. He turned to his small crew. "That's the last of them, come on."

The crew started to leave, but the PFC lingered, leaning up against the bulkhead.

 _The worst curse I could ask for: A talkative PFC when I'm trying to get out of here._

"You wonder what'll happen to us when this whole Jedi thing is over?"

"Still got the war ahead, Private."

"Not what I hear. Rumors are that General Grievous was killed by General Kenobi. Before the orders, I mean."

"Then it looks like a peacetime garrison. That's gonna be no fun."

"Seems to be all I've already done. At least you've got some notches in your belt, you'll probably get..." He trailed off, and Dreamer looked around. "What's that?"

He heard it, then. A twitch below them, little more than a rustle. The PFC looked down, searching.

Dreamer moved fast. He grabbed the back of the clone's helmet and tore it off. The young clone's eyes widened, mouth opening wide as he straightened up. Dreamer gave him no time to make a sound or fight back, pinning him to the wall by his mouth. Dreamer pulled one of his blasters and shoved it into the PFC's midsection.

"Sorry, Private," he said. "Just doing my job."

Another shot, and another of Dreamer's brothers were dead at his hands. Once the clone slumped to the ground, Dreamer glared down at the seams of the hatch.

"Apologies," Mon Mothma said, climbing from the hatch. "I had to brace down there, something slipped from under my foot."

"What's one more?" Dreamer asked.

"Don't pretend you aren't affected by it, Sergeant." She brought her comlink up to her mouth as she sat at the edge of the opening. "Are they out?"

"The crew is, ma'am, I can't see the clone."

"Close up. Close up now."

"Yes ma'am."

"Is our download complete?" Dreamer asked.

"Let me check." Mon Mothma raised herself up and checked the screen, then nodded. "We're good. Get us out of here, I'll check the data over." Her mouth went to her comlink. "Corporal Looto, get up here quick."

Dreamer took back to his seat, and gave a final report to the colonel in charge.

"Thank you for the assistance, sir." Dreamer said. "I'll be heading planetside now."

"Understood, Sergeant."

"We don't have much time before they realize their team leader is missing. Let's go, Sergeant."

Dreamer was eager to leave the hangar, and it took everything he had to avoid shooting out of the bay at top speed. Instead he guided the corvette slowly from the hangar and through the atmosphere of Coruscant.

He was soon joined by his co-pilot, who gave him a nod before seating himself.

"I've got the location of a smuggler ship carrying a Jedi," the senator said from behind him. "It might be your friends, Sergeant. They're being chased. To these coordinates, quickly."

The direction appeared on the monitor, and Dreamer guided them down into the brightly-lit city below, hoping against hope that Neria and Kurik had managed to survive the betrayal at the Jedi Temple.

It felt like they flew for hours before someone spotted their smuggler vessel.

"There!" Corporal Looto shouted.

Dreamer found them quickly. The familiar freighter swerved in between the spires and towers of the city, trying to flee a trio of ARC-170 starfighters, couldn't manage to outrun the nimble dual-winged fighters. A corvette sat above them, not quite as fast as the freighter but able to keep up by virtue of being in the sky.

They'd penned the ship in, and if Dreamer didn't get down there quickly, there was a good chance that they'd manage to eventually encircle it. From there, even the best pilot in the galaxy

He heard the senator's hand clutch tightly at the seat as Dreamer engaged the weapons.

A series of laser cannons along the bottom of the corvette opened up, flashing red and raining lasers down. Dreamer didn't aim for the corvette; it would take too long to destroy the ship of equal class, and that length of time would allow the fighters to box Kurik in.

Instead, he aimed in on the fighters. It was only the accuracy of the corvette that allowed them to pick of three fighters on the right side without slicing through the buildings around them. Had he been piloting a starfighter himself, he could've counted on at least a dozen onlookers perishing as a result of the attempted rescue.

To his credit, Kurik took the advantage immediately, veering to the right and immediately aiming up at the atmosphere.

Dreamer cut in front of the enemy corvette, forcing it to slow to avoid hitting them. That gave Kurik the clearance he needed, especially once the fighters rose from the streets and made themselves easy targets for the corvette.

From there, it was easy for them to outpace the enemy corvette, and it didn't seem particularly interested in following a ship of the same class _and_ a modified freighter.

 _Besides, given how much they've been willing to do to kill the Jedi, I bet someone's waiting above._

His thoughts were interrupted by a voice over their communication console.

"What—Who's there?"

It was Kurik, the kid sounding more stressed than Dreamer had ever heard him. He was glad to hear the voice, happy to see that the teenage pilot had managed to survive the ruthless backstabbing by Dreamer's brothers.

Before he could answer, a voice he was far more intent on hearing broke in.

"Dreamer, you're here!"

"I am, Knight Halai." A smile lifted Dreamer's lips. "I'm relieved to hear you're well. Please tell me it's more than just you in there."

"We've got the former Sith prisoners here, and I have a small class of children with me. Nine of us, total. You're...You're okay?"

"Whatever took my brothers, it didn't quite take me. Not for a lack of effort, though."

And indeed, the pain was starting to become stifling. He didn't know how much longer he'd be able to push it aside.

"Thank the Maker," she muttered. "Well, I hope you're ready for more, because Kurik's telling me that our sensors are finding a small flotilla up there."

"I must make a call," Senator Mon Mothma said. "Get them through, Sergeant."

"Gladly, Senator."


	30. Chapter 30

**Kurik Otela –** ** _Jack of Trades_**

It quickly became clear to Kurik that Dreamer was simply a passable pilot. He had little mind for evasion or trickery, and the Miralukan was certain that the clone's victory over the fighters had simply been a product of the Corellian Corvette as opposed to his own skill.

The smoking grays of the clouds around them was all the more pronounced for Kurik's sight, a maelstrom of gray and black smoke.

Next to him, Neria watched on, the Jedi Knight only storm more intense than the one raging outside the cargo ship. Even as his blind gaze met her eyes, he felt a short shiver claw its way up his spine.

Running from the temple had been no easy task for her, that much was certain. Jedi had died by the hundreds in that temple, children and adults alike. He'd seen the classes as he'd walked through, there had been children even younger than the ones Neria had managed to extract. Leaving it couldn't have been easy, but he'd sensed the presence in that temple. Had she not withdrawn, they would've all met the same fate.

Now it was his turn. He'd been the one stupid enough to go back to the temple, convinced he'd be able to pull Neria out of there without anyone noticing. Instead, he'd be wanted on Coruscant, if not across the Republic. His only hope was that the Republic would be too preoccupied with whatever had seen them massacring the Jedi to add him to any wide-ranging lists.

"Alright," he muttered, looking down at the scans ahead. "Alright, we've got a tiny hole I can work with. I hope Dreamer can keep up."

"Me too." Neria's head turned to him. "He's in pain, Kurik. He's hurting."

Kurik just nodded in response, looking down at the ship-to-ship communication console in front of him. He hit a control and opened a channel to the Corellian Corvette.

"We're headed up," Kurik told Dreamer. "You still in condition to fly?"

"I'll be fine, kid." He certainly didn't sound it, his voice strained and curt. "I'm on your six."

Kurik grabbed the controls and pulled back, forcing the _Jack of Trades_ up and into the atmosphere. Next to him, Neria hit a couple of buttons, redirecting the power for the deflector shields to the front.

"One cruiser, one squadron," Kurik muttered, "C'mon, c'mon."

"This thing's a blockade runner, right?"

"Yeah, I'm more worried about the corvette. That's not a ship for gunning past blockades."

Neria stared out the translucent glass as they approached the blockade. They had the poor luck to face down a Republic Attack Cruiser, the triangular warship a looming presence that threatened to undo them all by itself.

Yet it was joined by a squadron of Z-95. They were an aging model that wasn't quite as efficient as the ARC-170, but they were still maneuverable enough to give the ships trouble. The eleven fighters were already in a "V" formation, wheeling down and around in order to intercept the escapees.

Even the lumbering cruiser was angling downward, a hulking threat armed to the teeth and ready to kill. He wondered how many clones were aboard, just itching for the chance to kill more Jedi, desperate to have their final say in a war gone so wrong in nearly every way.

Kurik almost wanted to risk entering hyperspace, was tempted to warm the engines for a jump, but the corvette was in no way ready to jump. With that thought in mind, he typed in a set of coordinates and transmitted it to the corvette, along with a brief order to start up their hyperdrive.

He looked up to see the squadron fast approaching, the cruiser angling itself to block them up front. They were about to boxed in.

"Here we go."

Kurik pushed the ship downward abruptly, firing into a starfighter that tried to block his way. A trio of red bolts cut right through the middle, splitting the ship enough that the deflectors were able to push the debris out of the way and allow them through.

The corvette swung up, an ill-advised move that separated the two of them. If it had only been the squadron, that would've been fine, but allowing the cruiser to fire at them with different sets of weapons as opposed to one set would leave them taking more fire than if they'd stayed together.

Next to Kurik, Neria shifted the deflector power again. Just in time, as well, as blaster fire started striking at their stern.

Kurik growled a curse and pulled the controls back, raising them up into a steep climb that pressed him back into his chair. Then he yanked the controls even further, effectively flipping the ship until it was aiming 'downward'.

Four ships were chasing him, now in his sights. They continued to fire, hoping to stop him before he could shoot again.

His shields were too strong for a few hits from starfighters to bring down, and he pulled the ship into a spin to help allay some of the incoming fire as he shot back.

In the somewhat uncontrolled spin, he managed to shred a pair of the Z-95s, blasting through them and pulling back to a level axis just in time to see the Corellian Corvetter bring down a pair of its own.

That left them with only a half-dozen fighters, more than easy enough for the two heavier vessels to take.

Unfortunately, the Republic starfighters were joined by the cruiser.

A blast that rocked the cargo ship alerted Kurik to the new entrant to the battle. He didn't see the cruiser, but the location of the blast told him exactly where it was located.

He sped up, racing to catch the Corellian Corvette. With the enemy cruiser opening fire on the smaller class of vessel, Dreamer appeared beleaguered and confused. Perhaps it was just a product of his inexperience in the vacuum; for all that he knew how to pilot a ship, it was clear to Kurik that his experience hadn't been in combat. He'd made several poor choices throughout the rescue, mistakes that wouldn't have been made by even an average combat pilot.

Footsteps at the door alerted him to a newcomer, and he spared a moment to check over his shoulder, finding one of the Togrutan siblings behind them. He was discomforted at having a dark side user at his back, the worst place for one, but he was assured that she knew his death would mean hers moments later.

"What's happening?"

"Get back," Neria responded. "We're trying to punch our way out up here."

"Can—Can you do it?"

"If I can't, you'll be one of the first to know." Another glance found an empty seat next to her and unfortunately, right behind him. "Sit down, quickly."

A pulse of red from her as she reacted to the order, but she mercifully seemed to realize that it wasn't the time for argument. Instead, she stayed quiet and took a seat behind him, buckling herself in.

The corvette was slowing under all the incoming fire, and Kurik took the opportunity to dive just under the support vessel and blast a pair of fighters on its underside, allowing Dreamer to push the ship down and give him a little breathing room.

Unfortunately, the fighters who'd been chasing Kurik seemed to understand that the corvette was the easier target, even if the ship itself was larger and more deadly. They turned away from the _Jack of Trades_ and put themselves in front of the ship, forcing Dreamer to slow down and making him an easier target for the

Kurik flipped the cargo ship back around, easing up alongside the corvette and carefully keeping on its flank. He opened up on the starships keeping the corvette slow,

The Miralukan pilot called up the corvette. "Get your rear deflectors ready, we're making a run for it!" he yelled. "Dreamer, you copy?"

"Yeah." His voice sounded labored, tired. "Just...Just lead the way, I have the coordinates locked in."

It was no small mercy that the clone fell in obediently behind Kurik, allowing the young pilot to guide him. The _Jack of Trades_ and the corvette both soaked up the fire from the fighters, desperately trying to outlast them as they angled toward the tip of the Republic cruiser.

The smuggler's ship pitched and rocked with each hit, a tense ride as they tried to jet past the enemy cruiser with the corvette in close pursuit. Behind the corvette, a trio of starfighters continued to give chase.

Kurik pinpointed each of the turrets, gray protrusions firing flashing red. He did all that he could to avoid them, feeling where they would fire even before they took a shot. The Force kept him ahead of the shots, but the same couldn't be said for the corvette.

Dreamer's vessel was taking hits, its deflector flashing with each strike. As they passed over the cruiser's nose, fleeing quickly, the corvette's shields finally started to give out, sputtering and flashing intermittently.

Yet if there was one advantage to the corvette, it was that the vessel was sturdier than most of its class. It took the hits with an obvious pain, but even as it shuddered and its chassis bent, it continued on through the fire. Even its engines managed to absorb the starfighters' withering fire with a stoicism, eventually pushing the ship out of the cruiser's range.

And that gave them the opening they both needed. Kurik slowed his vessel, drifting behind the corvette and allowing the cargo ship to soak up some of the starfighters' fury. Though Kurik kept a steady eye on the shields, they were still holding.

"Alright," Kurik said, voice straining with the effort of worrying about both ships. "Dreamer, you there? Jump now!"

The call wasn't answered immediately by action, and Kurik's heart skipped a beat as the ship simply listed, a lazy and aimless course. Then a strange voice came in over their comms console, one noticeably Rodian.

"This is Corporal Looto." The high-pitched wheezing voice was high, fear stretching it into a near-whine. "Republic Senate Security."

 _Senate?_ Kurik wondered. _If they're here, they could sell us out._

They were in something of a tense situation, the fighters still firing and distant security around Coruscant racing to try to catch up, but the worry was too great for Kurik to just ignore.

"Which senator?" Neria asked, beating him to the punch.

"Don't worry, she's on your side. Where's the control for the hyperspace? I've only ever been a co-pilot, I don't know where it is."

"It'll be the lever on the right of the acceleration controls. Push the button above it, then push that lever all the way up."

He didn't answer, but it didn't matter. After a worrying moment, a beat in which Kurik wondered if they were truly about to die in the middle of space because no one on the corvette knew how to work a hyperdrive, there was a familiar blaze in the engines.

Then, suddenly, the corvette simply winked out of existence.

"Go, go," Neria said unnecessarily, hand planted on one of the controls.

Kurik did just that, pushing the lever up with all the force he had. With a whine that echoed through the ship, their engines pushed them into hyperspace, too.

They'd escaped. Even thought there would be endless trials ahead for Neria, and he'd have to hide himself, they had managed to slip out of the most heavily-secured world in the Republic.

"There," Kurik muttered, tension easing out of him. "There. We're out."

"Good thing, too," Neria said. He turned to find her coming out of a trance, a gray and blue fire next to him. "Dreamer went dark."

"Is he alright?"

"No, but there are other people on that vessel—Allies, obviously. They'll take care of him, at least until we get to our destination." She paused, then peered at him. "What is our destination?"

"Just a patch of empty space," he told her. "It was somewhere that...that Dilt and I were supposed to use as a fast escape. From there, I don't know."

"Me neither." A flare of gray, a red vein within throbbing, then she was back to blue. "I'll figure something out."


	31. Chapter 31

**Jedi Knight Neria Halai – Chandrilla**

The senator that had temporarily allowed Dreamer to commandeer her ship had been quite gracious toward Neria. She'd showed them to a medical facility on her planet, declining to alert any level of the planet's government to their arrival.

Illegal, to say the least. The senator certainly had no authority to smuggle fugitives to the surface, but Neria was given to the impression that Mon Mothma was deeply saddened by the Jedi's lot. She had regarded the newly-minted knight with no end of courtesy and apology, then had departed from the secretive facility once Dreamer had been put in a coma.

"When will he come out?" Neria asked one of the medical droids. "Is he going to be alright?"

"Silence, please."

The droids didn't know who she was—or, at least, they hadn't explicitly been told who she was. It was often difficult to tell how much droids could deduce, and it wasn't helped by the ultra-professional medical droids. The dark chassis that covered them seemed to hide an intelligence, their flat circular eyes giving no indication as to whether they'd actually figured out who she was.

Neria had temporarily ditched her robes in favor of the kind of ruffled pants and jacket expected of an Outer Rim smuggler rather than a Jedi. Then she'd settled into the medbay while the children slept in a barracks overseen by Mon Mothma's personal guards.

The Jedi didn't acknowledge the medical droids answer, instead continuing to watch as they continued to cut into his skull. They'd already found a chip beneath the surface, one that would've killed him had it been left in much longer.

 _All those blasts let him keep his mind,_ she thought to herself. _Strange how that worked._

Neria stood and wandered around the room, quietly inspecting the cargo that had been dropped off with them. The children's possessions, mostly, but that wasn't what caught her interest. She ran a hand over the tubes that had been piled in a corner. Paintings, she was certain, but she wondered if the once canvas he held so dear was present among their number.

She wondered if the surgery would change him, if he'd ever be able to paint again.

Before she could give it too much more thought, she felt something nearing. It was a power she'd felt before, stifling and overwhelming. When in combat with Shaak-Ti, there had been a shade of it, but now the light was oppressive.

There was only one person it could be, only one Jedi who could contain such raw power. The relief that he'd survived was soon joined by a pressing need to see him, a desperate want to find another like her. A Jedi, not simple trainees that she was expected to do something with. Neria walked outside and felt the form stop.

He was waiting.

Neria found Master Yoda awaiting in the small shed beyond. The Jedi master looked tired, his exhaustion practically written across his face. His ears had drooped, his shoulders were slumped, and even his eyelids seemed lower than usual. The wrinkles on his green hide looked so very thick, now.

"Master Yoda," she said, relief thickening her voice. "Master Yoda, you're safe."

"For lack of trying, it's not. Met the master of the Sith, I have. Failed to save the Jedi, I have."

"Not completely, Master. I'm still here. There are still Jedi scattered across the stars. We have younglings. It...won't be easy to survive, but we're not lost yet."

The old alien's face wrinkled even more as he smiled, the expression sadder than she could ever remember seeing. Even when Master Jinn had been killed, he hadn't looked so devastated. She hoped she'd brought some cheer to him, but she wondered if that were even possible after the massacre of everyone they'd known.

"True, that is. Teach them, you must."

"M—Master?" she asked, surprised. "Master, I'm no great Jedi. I barely escaped the carnage with my life, and I couldn't save _so many_. I had to run, I had to leave so many to their deaths. I saw Master Kenobi's transmission, why not him?"

"Has his own task, Obi-wan does." Yoda dipped his head in quiet contemplation before returning to her. "You will not wait. The future of our order, you have in your hands."

"The children? The former Sith? Grandmaster, I'm sorry, but I'm no teacher. I'm not foolish, I know you didn't intend for me to leave Durel's side until you thought I could actually be trusted to be on my own. How do you expect me to teach them? To shield them from the Sith?"

"A puzzle, it is. Take you with me, I will. Teach all of you for some time, I will. Then, released you will be."

"To found a new Jedi Order?"

"No." He shook his head, emerald eyes emphatic. "To hide. Hide until the time is right."

"I see." For some time, she watched him, weighing a question in her mind. Then she decided to simply ask it. "Master, you knew something was going to happen, didn't you?"

Yoda stared at her overlong, ears occasionally twitching. She'd seen the look before. He'd often regarded her with the same pensive silence every time she'd been brought before the council to decide whether her time was up. He'd always been the deciding vote, had always trusted her beyond the other Jedi Masters.

He'd seen something in her, had trusted her to find her center when half the masters had considered her a failure and the other half had only pity in her. That he would trust her now with so many Force-sensitive younglings spoke of his belief in her more than any council decision had.

"I suspected. Foresaw a dark future, I had. Yet know the method of our destruction, I could not. Wonder I do, whether it was inevitable."

"Inevitable." She weighed the word, found it distasteful. "Master, you can't possible mean that."

"Something else, we had become. See in younglings like you the future. The soldiers and warriors we had become, again the Jedi Code it was. A different way, we need. A traditional way."

"Durel often spoke of it," Neria told him. "Said he didn't like what the Jedi had become. If I'm being honest, I wondered the same. I was glad to go to battle to prove myself worthy of the chances I'd been given, but all the war, I thought it couldn't possibly be what the Jedi were meant for."

"Among reasons I'm glad you're safe, it is." The worried smile became kindly, and warmth returned to his eyes. "A good teacher, I thought you would be. Who better to teach than one who'd fought through failure, I thought. Now, ask you something difficult, I must."

"I'll do what I have to, Master Yoda. When will we leave?"

"We leave when Dreamer wakes." The tap of his staff against the floor invoked thoughts of his lectures. "Yes. Need a soldier, you will. More experienced in the darkness of the galaxy, he is. Retire, I will, until he wakes."

"I'll keep an eye on things, Master."

"Thank you." The smile was still sad, but there was a noticeable hope that came to it. "Did better than anyone expected, you did. Proud, you should be."

"I appreciate it, Master."

With a weary turn, the Jedi master turned away from Neria and limped out of the room, his cane striking against the floor with every other step. He paused at the door, looked up at someone unseen to her eyes, then continued on.

A moment later, Kurik was at the door, staring at the back of the departing Grandmaster of the Jedi Order. He seemed every bit as surprised as she'd been.

"Master Yoda?" he asked. "He survived?"

"It seems so, yes. He wants me to teach the children." She looked up at him. "I thought you would be gone by now."

"I just wanted to say bye, Neria," he said. "I don't belong here among you, I'm no Jedi in the making. Let's not pretend I have the restraint or whatever it is that keep you all so calm. I'll find my own way, there's no need to worry about me."

"I'm worried more about what you'll get up to while I'm gone."

"Look, Neria..." The Miralukan pilot ran a hand through his hair, his voice descending to a conspiratorial mutter. "Come with me. You're clever, tough, beautiful, and I could go on."

Hearing him describe her in any way romantic brought a pause to Neria. Nobody had ever spoken toward her looks, nor had she ever given the matter any thought. After all, she was a Jedi, drifting along without physical attachments.

"I'm sorry, Kurik. I can't go with you, I have too many responsibilities here. Just...promise me you'll be safe, alright?"

"Yeah."

He turned to leave, then she called him back.

"I...here." She strode forward and pressed something into his hand. "You should have this."

Kurik didn't open his palm. She knew he could feel the beads that had once adorned her lekku, the power that would one day fade from them still pulsated softly. He looked down at his fist, then his blindfolded gaze came back to her.

"Why?"

"I don't know, Kurik. Just take them."

"Alright." He gently placed them in his pocket, then smiled. "Take care of yourself."

"You too."

Then he was walking away, and she felt a sadness overtake her. His romantic overtures had fallen flat, but he was still a good friend. Even more, she suspected that were the children not present, were her responsibilities not so crucial, she would've taken his offer. Freedom, instead of the heavy weight that bore her down.

Yet she couldn't dwell on it, especially when the younglings that were now her charges stumbled out of the barracks, looking around blearily. She felt their exhaustion more than the children. She'd gotten some sleep on the journey over, but it had been eight hours since then, and her sleep had been deeply troubled.

At their head stood the Togrutan siblings, older than the children but still young and impressionable even at only a few years younger than Neria. They may have been dark side apprentices, but common tragedy had bonded all of the younglings together. They were neither light or dark for the moment, but children who were lost and scared.

Neria stared off in the direction that Kurik had walked in, overlooking the serene city that the senator had set them in. With a scuff of boots, the two Togrutan joined her.

"We're...We're all hungry, Master Halai." Hearing them call her by such an honorific startled Neria, forcing her gaze to theirs. "We're hungry, and we need—"

"Don't worry, I'll get you something from the cafeteria. Mon Mothma told the soldiers to provide me with anything. Just don't let the children be seen. Better that they stay in the barracks until its time to leave. I'll deliver the food myself."

"You're not...going to be going anywhere, are you?" Esha asked. "They—They wanted me to ask, Master."

Neria looked over the Togrutan's shoulder to find the children still waiting, staring at her. They all wondered the same thing, that she would suddenly disappear from them. They were all without teachers, without anyone to set them right.

One day, they would be her charges, and she would be expected to keep them safe from the Sith. It was a duty that nobody could think to prepare for, something she thought impossible. With some help from the most learned Jedi of them all, though, perhaps she'd manage to find them some peace.

"No. I won't leave you. Not until you've been properly instructed."

"And how long will that take?"

Eyes watching as a familiar cargo vessel rose above the city, Neria smiled at the sound of eagerness in the girl's voice. Perhaps, as horrible as the last month had been, as heartbreaking as the loss of her order had been, there was still some lingering hope to be had.

"A very long time."

 **And there's the end of the first third of the story, not sure if I'll keep continuing, but maybe I will. We'll see.**


End file.
